


A Dangerous Game

by just_quintessentially_me



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 1920s, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/F, F/M, Gangsters, Mystery, POV Multiple, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/just_quintessentially_me
Summary: A snk 1920′s AU:Sina is wild, crowded, bursting with industry. Home to jazz, fashion - and corruption. Crooked politicians, dirty police, and powerful gangs have turned the city into a cesspit of violence where the powerful rule. At the center of the chaos are the Ackermans - one of the most powerful gangs in the city, Mayor Fritz - who is as corrupt as he is wealthy, Erwin - a police commander determined to weed out the corruption in his own department, and Hanji - a journalist willing to risk everything to expose their city’s darkest secrets.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was out, a crooning saxophonist played in the cafe on the corner, and a young boy shouted, holding a folded paper aloft as he tried to barter the weekend news.

It was Sunday, and Hanji Zoe had a secret.

Clutching a satchel at her side, she sidestepped a rushing businessman and hopped off the curb, effortlessly weaving between slowed traffic.

From the cafe’s open windows, the saxophone wailed. Hanji dodged across a line of incoming traffic, and a car’s horn blared, dissonantly cutting into the melody.

Oxfords scraped concrete as she rushed up the police headquarters’ sprawling stairs. 

A young officer was leaving as she arrived. Petticoat freshly pressed and brass buttons shining, he stood straight as he smiled and held the door. 

Hanji strained to remember his name. _Carl? Earl?_

She thanked him with a grin and a cheeky salute. _Sweet kid_ , she thought. _Shame he took bribes from the notoriously violent Lower East Side Gang._

Mike was at Nanaba’s desk. They leaned over, elbow to elbow and shoulder to shoulder, analyzing a file. 

“Special delivery,” Hanji announced, and tossing the bag on the desk, threw her arms over their shoulders.

Straightening, Mike sniffed. “She brought Gino’s,” he groaned. “Nanaba, she brought us _Gino’s_.”

Nanaba greeted Hanji with a tight hug while Mike made a grab for the bag.

“It’s good to see you,” Nanaba said, warm.

Nanaba’s blonde hair was cropped short and brushed back. She wore the blue uniform with an easy confidence, as if it were meant for her. And maybe it was.

When Hanji had met her, she’d been a rookie in the academy. As far as Hanji knew, law enforcement had always been her dream.

“Honestly, I’m a little jealous,” Nanaba said as she pulled back. “Mike clearly loves Gino and his calzones more than me,”

Perched on the edge of Nanaba’s desk, Mike looked up, mouth stuffed with a steaming calzone.

Mike hadn’t always planned on being a cop. He needed the money. Hanji knew that caring for ailing parents had used up his meager savings. He was disciplined, good with a gun - joining a local gang would have been the easy choice. But Mike refused. So he took up the blue. 

“The man does know his pizza,” Hanji said. Grabbing the bag back, she pulled out her and Nanabas’s lunches. 

Nanaba hummed as she bit into hers. “Yes. Yes, he does.”

They were both good cops.

Unfortunately, those were a rarity in Sina. If the rest of the city’s officers had their integrity, the city would be a very different place. 

Hanji scanned the station as she chewed. Swallowing a savory, steaming bite, she asked, “Where’s Erwin? I brought an extra one for him.” 

“In a meeting with Nile and Zackly,” Mike said.

Though Erwin ran this division, Nile was his direct superior. And Zackly oversaw all police divisions in the city.

Erwin’s door was closed and the blinds had been drawn.

“Whenever I visit he’s always in one meeting or another.”

Nanaba glanced at the shuttered office and frowned. “It’s because Mayor Fritz is demanding immediate actions against prominent Upper West Side gangs, like the Ackermans. All because of the upcoming elections. But you know all about that,” Nanaba said, looking at Hanji and smiling. “Your paper’s been covering them for months.”

Rolling her eyes, Hanji sighed. “You’re telling me. At this point, I’ve had enough with writing about rich bastards,” she said. 

It was a lie, and they all knew it. 

But Hanji had been friends with Nanaba and Mike for years, and they knew by now not to ask questions they didn’t want the answers to.

Mike snorted, dutifully pushing the conversation along. “Well we’re tired of seeing their faces. With both of them being front-runners in the election, Mayor Fritz and Councilmen Rod Reiss have both been hitting up Erwin all week, petitioning for action against this gang and that. Rod, of course, wants to trample the Lower East Side Mob and Fritz wants to do away with the Ackermans. It’s complete shit.” 

Nanaba tossed her trash in the nearest bin and muttered, “Corrupt bastards.”

Mike straightened, twisting around as if stretching, and casually glanced to see if anyone was listening. When he turned back, he said, his voice low, “You know not to say that here.”

Steepling her hands, Hanji glanced, double checking the area. No one else was close enough to hear. 

In this city, some truths were punishable by death. 

Corrupt bastards, indeed.

Nanaba’s words were as true as they were unwise.

Rod Reiss was dirty. The man was on the Ackerman’s payroll.

The Ackerman’s, who ran one of the city’s largest underground distillery operations, were one of the two most powerful gangs in the city. In exchange for political favors, they offered him protection and the greatest motivator - cold, hard cash. Prohibition made liquor worth it’s weight in gold - and the Ackerman’s were rolling in it. 

Rod Reiss wasn’t alone. Most of the city’s leaders were corrupt in some way - had some association with one gang or another.

Out of all of them, Mayor Fritz was the worst.

The Mayor had rumored ties with the notoriously violent Lower East Side Mob. Rumored, because as of yet, no one had been able to prove it. But anyone with good sense knew.

The Lower East Side Mob ran distillery operations too. But they were also in the gambling business, and ran most of the casinos East of Fifth street. Like the Ackerman’s, they didn’t want for cash.

But Mayor Fritz didn’t associate with the East Siders for their money. From what Hanji could tell, Fritz was set-up financially. Whether from investments or business, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t managed to figure that out.

Yet.

Mayor Fritz associated with the East Siders for their muscle and their guns. Their reputation as the most violent gang in the city was well earned.

As the saying went: _On the East Side, the streets run red_.

Not that the other gangs weren’t violent. They were. And the Ackermans were certainly no saints.

But the Lower East Side Mob had no qualms about crushing the little guys - so long as a profit was turned.

 And that was precisely for what Mayor Fritz used them - _allegedly._  

The Mayor’s opponents, political or otherwise, had been known to have unfortunate accidents - or disappear.

Not that his opposition, Rob Reiss, was a hell of a lot better. It was politics. With prohibition going strong, gangs both large and small popping up at an unprecedented speed, and murder rates on the rise, the city couldn’t afford to be choosy.  
  
Rob might be bad, but Fritz was worse. The city would be better off without him.

After finishing her lunch, Hanji hugged Nanaba and then Mike, kissing them each on the cheek, and left, pleading news stories that needed telling.

On her way out, she passed two young officers chatting about an upcoming raid. Eren and Jean. Armin’s friends. Hanji made a mental note to ask him what they knew. Later.

Now, she had a pending engagement. For this meeting, she couldn’t afford to be late.

The door was in sight when a female officer sauntered into her path. Short, curly hair framed her face like a halo. She bumped Hanji as she passed.

Without breaking a step, Hanji pocketed the envelope the woman had slipped into her hand.

Hitch was the master of a smooth pass off.

Hanji stood by her previous sentiment: if all officers had Mike and Nanaba’s moral code, the city would be a very different place.

But it wasn’t.

Officers could be bought.

If you were willing to pay for it.

Hands in her pockets, Hanji swept out of the building and down the police headquarter’s smooth, marble steps.

Nanaba and Mike were her friends. They knew the nature of the articles she published. And as such, they never questioned her frequent, regular visits to the station. They never asked, because this city had taught them well: some truths were best left buried.

* * *

 

The train station was packed with bustling bodies, as it was any given Sunday. They’d selected as their meeting place for that very reason.

Hanji found her usual bench and waited. Glancing up at the ornate station clock, she counted the seconds under her breath.

As the second hand ticked upwards, striking 12, a figure materialized, stepping smoothly out of the hustling mass of bodies.

Her head was turned down, and a velvet, cloche cap obscured her features, save for pale lips and straight, dark hair that brushed her shoulders.

Hanji pulled a newspaper from her bag. Shaking it open, she spread it wide as the young woman dropped onto the bench beside her.

“Mikasa,” Hanji said without looking at her.

Mikasa’s head tipped back. Dark eyes blinked, and she greeted her with a nod.

Mikasa Ackerman. Kenny Ackerman’s niece and third in line to inherit control of the Ackerman gang. Levi Ackerman, her cousin, was second.

When Hanji produced the envelope from within her coat, Mikasa shifted, lifting her bag. Hanji easily slipped it underneath.

“The upcoming raid schedule?” Mikasa questioned under her breath.

“For the next two weeks.”

“Good.” 

Hanji shifted, idly flipping through the paper, and asked, “Now what have you got for me?”

This was their deal. She kept her ear to the ground, used her connections at the police station to catch wind of operations against mobs on the West side, obtained raid schedules, patrol routes. In return for delivering this sensitive information to the Ackermans in a timely manner, she was given her own information – straight from the city’s criminal underbelly itself. She gave the Ackermans tips and in return, she got her truths.  
  
Was it morally ambiguous?

Yes.

Was it going to get her killed someday?

Very likely so.  
  
But Hanji had never been one to live by half-measures. She was going to get the cold, hard facts about the city’s most duplicitous happenings, even if it resulted in her making enemies of half the police force and nearly all the local gangs. The city deserved the truth. And she was going to give it to them, one way or another.

The exchange between Hanji and the Ackermans had been taking place for the better part of two years.

Mikasa paused, pressing her lips together.

She wasn’t often so expressive, and Hanji couldn’t help but wonder what it might mean.

Finally, Mikasa sighed, and said, “I don’t have it. Not yet.”

Before Hanji could speak, Mikasa interjected, “They’re getting the information now.” She paused, wetting her lips, and added, “Hanji. It’s a big one.”

Hanji stilled, newspaper fluttering in her grasp. She glanced at Mikasa, considering.

“How big are we talking?”

“Probably going to get you killed, big.”

Truthfully, most of the articles she published were a risk.

There was a reason why she’d had to make a deal with one of the city’s most notorious gangs in order to get her information. One needed a very large arsenal of weapons to feel comfortable dealing in these truths.

Hanji wasn’t publishing just any articles.

One paper at a time, she was exposing the cruelty, the greed, the corruption of the city’s top officials - the wealthy elite. Her muse of choice was the men and women in this city who collected power like pressed coins, and her medium was the printing press, where her black ink told truths of blackmail, murder, and bribes.

Unearth enough evidence and you could ruin anyone’s credibility. And the corrupt had plenty to dig up. It was only a matter of knowing where to look.

Hanji caught and held Mikasa’s gaze. “I want it.”

“Then you’ll have it,” she said, smoothly. “Tonight. He’ll bring it.”

Mikasa rose without another word.

Hanji didn’t lower the newspaper until Mikasa had slipped back into the crowd.

As she waited, counting the seconds, she considered the alleged information Mikasa said the Ackermans had to offer. It wouldn’t be on Rob Reiss, unfortunately. He was a bastard, but he was a bastard on their payroll. He’d pushed countless items on behalf of the Ackerman’s through the city council’s agenda.

It could be someone in the police.

Not Erwin, of course. She’d known him for years, and he’d always struck her as one of the good ones. Not that her instincts hadn’t been wrong before.

God, she hoped it wasn’t Erwin.

There were several high profile city council members that she suspected had been taking substantial bribes.

And then there was Fritz. With the election approaching, their illustrious Mayor had been in special form. The Lower East Side Mob had been particularly rowdy, stirring up trouble around the districts of rival politicians. A particularly charismatic candidate had turned up dead a month into primaries.

However, Fritz was meticulous. He’d yet to leave a loose end for Hanji to follow. There was proof of his misdeeds out there, she knew there was. But she’d never been able to find it.

Snapping the newspaper closed, Hanji folded it and tossed it on the bench. It was unlikely that they’d found anything on the Mayor. His power, wealth, and covert association with the Lower East Side mob offered a surplus of protection.

Even so, she rose, hope burning dangerously bright within her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm really loving writing this AU.
> 
> Coming up this chapter: Levi joins the game.

The printing press whirred, pistons clanking as rotund cylinders spun, spitting freshly inked papers. Beneath glowing lamps, a small team of workers bent, hastily tying thick bundles of newspaper.

Outside, it had gone dark, though the city’s lively din was far from faded.

Their office was on the second story of an old brick building. Large windows looked down on a bustling city street. Beneath pale streetlamps, women in dresses glittered, and men wearing hats and pressed jackets accompanied them, sliding through the night in their dark suits. Those dressed for a night out on the town bumped shoulders with workers who walked with weary, dragging steps, returning home from a long day of work in factories - or worse.

Hanji’s desk sat by one of the largest windows, and as she worked, formatting the layout for the following day’s paper, she found herself periodically glancing down at the mingling bodies below.

Her gaze followed the hobbling path of a woman. Dressed in a worn, tweed jumpsuit, she stumbled, head bent low. As Hanji watched, a man dressed in finery bumped her, nearly knocking the woman to the ground.

Armin cleared his throat, drawing Hanji’s attention back to the printing office.

Cap in hand, Armin stood beside the desk. His gaze roamed, glancing over her work.

When he saw her looking, he averted his eyes and blushed. “Sorry - I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s not like you and Moblit won’t be proofing them tomorrow,” she said, offering him the articles, “What do you think?”

Tucking a strand of blond hair behind his ear, Armin leaned over the desk. He skimmed the articles, stopped, and smiled.

“You included my article about educating our poorest socioeconomic classes.”

“Of course I did. It’s relevant and well written.”

“Thank you,” he said, the tips of his ears flushing red. “It’s my hope that drawing attention to the issue this close to the election will force the candidates to take a stance on it.”

Fritz and Rod Reiss were the only candidates left in the running for Mayor, and unfortunately, Hanji didn’t think it likely either would seriously take up quite so humanitarian a cause. They might make a few promises, but Mayor Fritz didn’t have the best track record when it came to keeping his word.

But it couldn’t hurt to try. And besides, the lack of educational opportunities afforded to the poor was a significant concern. Regardless of whether the powerful would take up the cause, the people of the city deserved the truth about their city’s educational disparity.

Grasping Armin’s shoulder, she said, “It’s a good thought.”

“Besides, if I can use the article to coerce a promise out of either candidate, I could write some scathing post-election articles to help get the public to start to press for change.”

At that, Hanji grinned. He was a smart one, Armin. The kid had a penchant for seeing straight through to the heart of things. There was a reason that he was one of the primary contributors to her paper. Together, she and Armin produced the bulk of their daily articles.

The newspaper, Sina Press, was Hanji’s creation.

Her parents had been activists. Her father was a scholar and teacher and her mother, a writer, who contributed articles to local papers.

Sometimes when she slept in too late, she’d wake to the smell of bacon, hear the click of a typewriter, the low hum of their voices. The second she opened her eyes, it was gone. A memory - a mirage - like smoke in the wind. Awake, she found herself in her flat. Alone.

Of course her parents weren’t there. How could they be?

They’d died. Years ago.

After, she’d taken the savings they’d left and the meager insurance payout, rented a large room and bought herself a press.

The press, which shuddered at the center of the room, reliably churning out ink-stained pages, was the single most expensive purchase she’d made - and probably ever would make.

With nearly every penny spent on the press and with a sizable rent left to pay, it had been a rough start. For the first couple of months, she’d passed out newspapers for free. No one trusted a new name in news. She’d had to prove herself. Find the most relevant stories - get them out to the public first.

She could remember long days in which she didn’t eat, exhausting nights without sleep.

Moblit was, quite literally, a life saver. A friend from college, he’d embarked on the newspaper venture alongside her. Every meal that Hanji missed, he missed too. For every hour she toiled at night, furiously working the press to get her story out first, Moblit worked too.

And when they put a price on their paper - and people actually bought it, Moblit recruited their first employees. Nifa, Keiji, and Abel.

The three of them were still bent over the trays, packing newspapers and tossing them in bins for delivery. Despite the late hour, none of them faltered. They would stay until it was done. They’d invested countless hours in this paper as well - research, investigating, writing - all three of them helped out however they could.

Though he’d worked for the paper for over a year, Armin was their most recent hire. Hanji had chosen him herself. At nineteen, he was young, but she’d had an inkling - some idea that he was special. He was certainly intelligent, but it was more than that. It was something about his stare. The slight, pouting, downturn of his lips when he discussed a particular mystery he’d been working to uncover for an article. Like her, he was driven by a relentless desire to find and uncover the entirety of the truth. And like her, he wouldn’t stop until he got it.

Armin gingerly set the draft down. “It looks good, Hanji.”

“I’m reworking the modern science piece - but it’s coming along.”

“I’ve noticed we haven’t had as many…” he hesitated, “poignant political pieces lately.”

When she looked at him, Armin averted his gaze and twisted his cap in his hands.

Though they’d never explicitly discussed it, she was sure Armin had an idea of the dual purpose for which she published this paper. And while he might not fully understand the reasons for her grudge against the wealthy elite and politically corrupt, he seemed to support her - proofing her most scathing articles with the utmost care.

For their own safety, Hanji had kept the truth of her deal with the Ackermans from her team. But she suspected that at least Armin and Moblit had some idea of the operation she was running. They spent too much time at the office with her - and Hanji suspected they’d secretly observed a few of the Ackerman’s people in the area.

It was unclear exactly how much they knew.

The city had taught them too:

Truly dangerous secrets were safest unacknowledged.

And so whether or not they knew the complete details of her dealings with the Ackermans and her bribery of select police was irrelevant - they knew enough to realize silence would keep everyone safest.

“You’re right,” Hanji acknowledged. “There haven’t been many. That will change soon though.”

Armin’s brows lifted, a silent question.

“I’ve got a story coming in. I don’t have the details yet, but I hear it’s big. Maybe game-changing big.”

“Should I be concerned?” Moblit cut-in, leaning over the table to add a last minute advertisement to the draft.

“No more than usual,” Hanji said, then conceded, “Well, maybe a little.”

If Mikasa wasn’t over-selling the lead, it might very well be worthy of concern.

Moblit didn’t say anything, but he pursed his lips and his eyebrow twitched in what Hanji had learned to recognize as barely concealed alarm.

She barrelled on, “I need to send you and everyone else home a little early tonight. I’ll finish up the rest myself.”

A quick-as-lightning glance flashed between the two men.

Yes, she was sure they knew something of her plans.

It was Moblit who spoke.

“Are you sure? I’m happy to stay. We’ll finish faster if we’re working together-”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “Take the night off. You deserve it.”

The command left no room for questions, and after a second shared look, Moblit dipped his head. As he passed, he touched a hand to her shoulder. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Hanji pretended it didn’t make her feel guilty.

It was for the best.

_The further he was from all of this, the safer he’d be._

Nifa, Keiji, and Abel were the more difficult parties to convince to leave. Yet to finish packaging the remaining papers for distribution, Nifa argued with Hanji while Keiji and Abel, ink-stained fingers flying, flung papers rapidly into piles.

With only a few hundred papers left to package, they were finally convinced to leave, as Hanji shoved them out the door, promising to finish the job.

She was true to her word and finished it all within a couple of hours. By the time she was done, and the papers were stacked, ready for the morning crew’s distribution, the city had at long last begun to quiet.

At three in the morning, the last inebriated stragglers were struggling home, along with the occasional weary barkeeps who hustled past, avoiding them.

But as they disappeared, finding their way in the dark, empty streets, a rare silence fell over the city.

Hanji glanced down at the articles she’d laid out, and reached past them to pry open the window. It opened with a reluctant groan, and cool air rushed in. She closed her eyes and breathed in, savoring the silence.

It wasn’t that she disliked the noise - she was born and raised in Sina, after all. The hustle and bustle of city life was in her blood.

But sometimes - sometimes she needed this.

She braced a hand over the loose articles as a cold gust blew in. It was damp with early morning mist and smelled like the city, carrying with it the distant, briny scent of the harbor.

The low creak was an obscenity in the silence. It was the tell-tale sign of the door being pushed ajar.

_Unusual._

He always knocked.

Her hand went for the top drawer in the desk. Beneath a false bottom, she’d hidden a handgun - just in case.

The door swung open. Light flooded the room.  
  
She yanked up the fake bottom and –  
  
“It’s me.”  
  
She dropped the gun back with a heavy breath. “Bastard. You forgot to knock.”

“Got a lot on my mind,” he said, unapologetic, and stepped into the light.  
  
His dark hair was shaved short along the sides. He’d let the top grow out. The black strands that brushed his cheekbones cut the man’s face in sharp angles. His dark, two-piece suit was sleek, tailored to fit his figure. The shirt beneath was a striking red. As long as she’d known him, he’d made a point to be impeccably dressed.    
  
Levi Ackerman, nephew of infamous gangster Kenny Ackerman, was firmly entrenched in the family business. Considered his uncle’s right-hand man, and first in line to inherit the family business, he personally oversaw the majority of their distillery operations.

By day, he dealt with the business side of the job.  
  
By night, he went out with his uncle - or his uncle’s men, this time, to handle the darker side of the family business. Gangs were constantly vying for territory, power, control. It was all a twisted game, and Kenny, Levi, and Mikasa were three of the most deadly players. At night, the Ackermans dealt with any rival gangs who were foolish enough to encroach on their turf.  
  
Kenny Ackerman was ruthless. Everyone knew it. And after years of working for his uncle, Levi Ackerman had already earned a reputation of his own:  
  
A man not to be crossed.  
  
This knowledge did not, however, dissuade her from strolling across the room and greeting him with an amicable punch to the shoulder. “That’s for scaring the shit out of me. Two weeks ago I exposed the Minister of Finance for embezzlement. I thought he might be coming to get rid of me.”

“Good to see you too,” he said, frowning and brushing at his shoulder. When he looked up, he said, “Don’t waste your energy worrying about Minister Dickbag.”

Hanji thought it prudent she worry, at least a little. But before she could say anything, he lifted a bottle of amber liquid.

“Brought you whiskey. Off our last shipment.”  
  
Hanji gladly snatched up the bottle, but said, “I know you didn’t come here to give me alcohol. I talked to Mikasa. You’ve got my information?”

He paused. And Hanji watched the corner of his lips twitch down. Long ago, she’d figured out it was one of Levi’s few tells. Whatever he’d come here to deliver had left him hesitant.

_Odd._

Hanji instinctively took a step closer, curiosity burning, an inferno within. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him. From his expression - blank, to his posture - carefully relaxed, he gave away nothing. She’d known him for two years, yet there was still so much she didn’t know.  
  
Levi tilted his head and sighed, reaching into his vest. From its folds, he pulled a yellow envelope. He tossed it on the table without a word.  
  
Sparing him a short glance, Hanji grabbed the folder. The seal tore beneath eager fingers. She tipped it forward and a single paper slid onto the table.  
  
A letter.  
  
Pushing her glasses up, she scanned the neat script.  
  
It belonged to a wealthy socialite - Maureen Thomas.

Hanji had heard of her. Over the last several years she’d spent a considerable sum investing back into the community - helping to clean up deteriorating public spaces. Hanji recalled a library being named in her honor.  
  
The black, stylishly looping letters spelled out the details of an alleged blackmail. Maureen had written to her mother, terrified because _K. Fritz - their Mayor_  - had somehow learned of her affair with a married man, and was now threatening to reveal the affair if she didn’t contribute substantial funds to his campaign.

Hanji stared down at the letter, mouth agape. This was it - evidence. Certainly not damning, no, but it was a start.

Any who crossed Mayor Fritz seldom lived to tell of it. Those who did live were intimidated into silence.

This letter was the first concrete piece of evidence of Fritz’s misdeeds that Hanji had ever laid eyes upon.

She had to verify it.

“How did you get this?”

“We got wind that Fritz was trying something with Miss Thomas, so one of our people interrupted the correspondence.”

Hanji stared down at the letter in her hands. It wasn’t enough. Not yet. But it was a start.

\- if she could get testimony from Maureen Thomas corroborating the statement in the letter, then she’d really have something.

It would be difficult - especially if Maureen was trying to keep the affair quiet. But it wasn’t impossible. Hanji suspected the socialite could be reasoned with.

It was remarkable that the Ackermans had managed to get their hands on this letter in the first place. Which begged the question -

“What exactly do you want?”  
  
Levi watched her, his dark gaze revealing nothing. Finally, he admitted, “You know Kenny’s personally invested in this election. He’s backing Rod Reiss - so the Ackerman’s are interested in seeing Fritz inconvenienced by all of this.”

Hanji clutched at the letter, “But this is true?”  
  
Levi nodded, slow. “It is.”  
  
Hanji turned, setting the letter carefully on her desk. A plan was already taking shape in her mind.

She’d have to talk to Maureen first, convince her to make an official statement. If she could get the socialite to speak out, Erwin and the police would be forced to launch an official investigation -  
  
“You know how dangerous this shit is, right?”  
  
Hanji didn’t bother looking up from the letter. “ _You know_  I know how dangerous this shit is.”

What he didn’t know, was how little she cared. This was it. The politicians, businessmen, aristocrats she’d brought down before now had been practice - opening acts for the main event. She’d helped destroy some truly awful people. But destroying Fritz’s reputation? Ruining his chances for re-election? Now that would be ridding the city of the worst of them. It would be everything she’d been trying to achieve since -

_A clatter. A bang. Crashing glass. Huddled, hiding. Bright light, lining the edges of cupboard drawers. A scream. Gunshots._

She blinked, forcibly clearing her head.

“You’re gonna die.”

At that, Hanji did look up. “Then I’ll die having brought down the biggest shark in this city.”

Levi frowned and stepped closer.

Hanji turned, putting her back to him and grabbed the two glasses she kept stored under her desk. She poured a generous portion of the amber liquid between them.

When she held one out to Levi, he shook his head. She poured it into her own.

She took a long swig, savoring the burn it ignited in her throat. “Come on. We’ve been at this for two years. You know the routine. I give you tips about raids schedules, and you get me all the dirt I want. I can’t imagine you’d get cold feet now.”  
  
His brows pressed together. Pale skin creased unhappily between them. “I’m not...it’s just -” And then the expression was gone, cleared away as though it had never been. “Fritz is gonna try to get rid of you before you publish anything about him. You might not even get that far.”

“I have a gun.”

“You fucking know he’ll send more than you and a gun can handle.”

Setting her drink aside, she reached for his vest. Her fingers absently played with the cold buttons. She looked up, and met his eyes.  
  
She would have liked to tell him that she had everything under control – that she would be fine. But truthfully, she didn’t know. What she did know was that she couldn’t, wouldn’t allow herself to be intimidated by Fritz, bully that he was.

Besides, she’d made a promise -  _again, she heard gunshots. Crashing glass._

This was her best chance to see it through. It was possible she’d never have an opportunity like this one again.  
  
By now, Levi was close. Close enough for her to feel the soft brush of his breath. “You’re not going to change your mind.” It wasn’t a question.  
  
She leaned back, scrutinizing. “ _Would you honestly want me to?_ Kenny’s clearly on board with this. It’s in the Ackerman’s best interest for me to try to take a shot at Fritz now.” Her fingers twisted in his lapels, and she tilted her head, a stray, impossible thought occurring to her, “It’s not because of this thing between us...” she hesitated, letting the question hang.

Levi shook his head, a harsh movement. He glanced away. “Fuck no.” Breathing a long sigh, he closed his eyes and added, “Don’t want you to waste a good opportunity, is all.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got the ammunition now. I’ll bring him down.”

“You’re gonna follow the lead tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

He frowned, nodding, “Alright. Mikasa’s doing a job for Kenny, but I’ll get Isabel to tag along with you tomorrow.”  
  
“You really don’t have to-”  
  
Before she could finish, she was tugged roughly forward. A hand cupped the back of her head. A hard kiss pressed against her lips.  
  
Hanji, fingers grasping the smooth fabric of his vest, pressed right back.  
  
Their professional relationship had existed for two years. This had been going on half as long as that.  
  
This – whatever they had between them, was the indirect result of one close call involving he, she, and a rival gang, and the direct result of the evening they’d spent drinking the stressful encounter away.

It was a secretive thing. Just for fun. She knew nothing would ever come of it. Levi had a gang to run, and she - well she had a government to dismantle.  
  
Fingers entangling in her messy ponytail, Levi deepened the kiss.

She bit his lip and he shuddered, dragging her body flush against his own.  
  
They hadn’t gotten to  _half_ of the things she would have liked - but she broke the kiss. Pressing her ink-stained palms against his chest, she forced herself to step back.  
  
“Alright. Okay.” She heaved a steadying breath. “Work. I’ve got work to do.”  
  
As she lifted her hands, Levi looked down, apparently inspecting his vest for ink stains. When he looked up, he asked, “You’ll take Isabel with you tomorrow?”  
  
Really, she didn’t mind. She’d seen Isabel around a few times. She seemed like a sweet kid. Probably too sweet for the likes of Kenny’s gang. And besides, if Fritz got wind that she was sniffing around Maureen, he really would be out for her head. It couldn’t hurt to have some backup.  
  
“Fine,” she said, brushing past him.

Straightening his vest, Levi stepped back. “Just…pay attention. Especially over the next few days. Don’t get so wrapped up in your own damn head.”  
  
Already preoccupied with the letter, Hanji hummed in response.  
  
He breathed a long sigh through his nose.  
  
At that, she finally looked up. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him kill me. Not before I get this article out anyway.”  
  
Levi, who was already crossing the room, came to a full stop. He tilted his head. “I’m getting sick of the bastard. Kenny won’t shut up about him. If Fritz does go that far, maybe I’ll just kill him myself.” He said it casually, like it was an afterthought. A joke. And left without another word.  
  
Hanji stared after him.  
  
For an Ackerman to attack Fritz directly would be…well it wouldn’t be good. At minimum, it would bring the full wrath of the police force down on the Ackermans. Worst case, it could mean full out gang warfare…between the Ackermans and the Lower East Side Mob, who supported Fritz. A full out war between two of the most powerful gangs in the city would be...Hanji shook her head. She couldn’t imagine the ramifications.  
  
Tapping an absent rhythm against the table, she blinked down at at the papers beneath her.

Hanji considered Levi.

How well did she truly know him?

Not nearly well enough, considering -  _well._  She touched a hand to her still burning lips.

Not for the first time, she reconsidered the nature of their relationship. It was supposed to be casual, just good fun. She’d never asked for - wanted - anything more. Neither had he. She had her life. He had his.

Right?

Hanji glanced back at the door.

Bribing the police. Sleeping with a gangster. What had her life come to?

_It had all started with crashing glass. Gunshots. Screams. A peaceful morning marred._

And now? Now, she burned.

She’d carried her anger. Stoking it. Feeding its flames. And she knew, deep down, this rage would kill her, that one day she’d burn herself from the inside out. She accepted it.  _Now, it was just a matter of who she managed to burn down with her._

She thought of Fritz and the inferno raged.

Gone were thoughts of Levi, or even of Moblit, of Armin, of Nanaba and Mike.

In their place - fire and flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that I'm loving this AU?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: Kenny's not a nice guy.

The night air was cold and sharp as a blade. _It felt good._ **  
**

Cursing under his breath, he re-adjusted his vest. He’d already fixed it twice, but he could still feel the weight of her hands on it, playing with the fabric, tugging him closer. Sometimes she felt like the tide, rushing in and out of the harbor. Relentless. Inevitable.

“She doesn’t normally leave you this rattled.”

Levi glared at the alleyway. There, Farlan stood, hands on his hips, half obscured by the dark.

“I’m not rattled.”

Farlan snorted in disbelief - which Levi chose to ignore.

“Where we off to next?”

“I need to check in with Kenny.” Levi glanced up at the window. From this angle, he could just make out her lamp’s pale glow. “You’re staying here.”

Farlan groaned, “We literally  _just_ got rid of Mister Minister of Embezzlement. You really expecting someone else to come sniffing around?”

“Kenny and Rod Reiss are making a play against Fritz.”

“Oh.”

In the distance, a car horn blared. And then the nighttime silence seeped back, swallowing up the sound.

Farlan leaned back, whistling low. “So things are about to get real messy, huh?”

Messy was an understatement.

Levi glanced back up at the window, thinking back to the frantic glow in her gaze. She would bring down Fritz, even if it meant destroying herself in the process. Kenny’s perfect pawn.

His stomach turned.

“Kenny’s eventually going to find out you’ve been sending people to keep watch over her.”

That drew his attention back.

“And you’re gonna tell him?”

Farlan’s hands were up before Levi even finished speaking. “ _Fuck_  no. But you know how word gets around. Maybe you should cool it with the guards. Kenny gets weird about that stuff anyway. And besides, I thought you and the journalist were just-” he concluded awkwardly, making a vulgar gesture.

Levi grimaced. “She’s nothing. And if Kenny asks, you tell him  _she’s nothing_. You got that?”

Farlan lifted his brows, but nodded obediently. “So you want me to tail the  _nothing_  journalist back to her flat in a few hours? Make sure she gets home safe and sound?”

“Fucking please and thank you.”

Farlan snorted and Levi left, flipping him off for good measure.

Levi scanned the streets as he walked, acutely aware of the gun strapped beneath his coat - and the knife tucked beside it. Rival gangs had been on the prowl. The upcoming election was stirring up all kinds of shit. The Upper East-Siders might be the worst - making a ruckus in support of Fritz, but there were plenty of other gangs coming out of the woodwork to capitalize on the chaos.

Before turning down a dark street, Levi glanced back once. Farlan had already disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway.

The Ackermans had a vast network of men and women under their pay. But Farlan, he was more than an employee. At least, to Levi, anyway.

Farlan and Isabel had gotten mixed up in the underground life at a young age.

Levi wasn’t much older than them when he’d started out, but he’d at least had Kenny and the rest of the gang to show him the ropes.

Farlan and Isabel weren’t yet teenagers when they managed to make enemies of a small time gang. Levi had been running errands for Kenny when he’d encountered the bloody scene. Isabel and Farlan, surrounded by the gang, were on the receiving end of a violent beating.

Armed with a knife, Levi had managed to save them. Barely.

Isabel nearly died before the Ackerman’s doctor could get to her. And ten years later, Farlan still walked with a limp.

After, they’d happily joined the Ackermans and the rest of the Lower West Side Gang. They swore loyalty to Kenny, but they answered to Levi.

Kenny had their respect - but Levi, well, they’d grown up with him. They were more than friends.

And so when Levi needed a favor - one he didn’t necessarily want Kenny knowing about - he went to Farlan and Isabel first. Mikasa wasn’t a bad choice either - Levi had trusted her all his life. But Kenny usually kept Levi’s younger cousin busy. Kenny had been training her nearly as long as he’d been training Levi.

Levi trusted Farlan to keep watch tonight. And he knew that Isabel would be able to keep things from going sideways during Hanji’s investigation tomorrow. And most importantly, he knew they’d never talk. Not about this.

Not about one of Levi’s secrets.

And much as he liked to deny it, Hanji Zoe was certainly a secret.

First, she’d been a warm body after a nearly disastrous encounter with a rogue gang.

_Fingers fumbling with buttons, searing lips, long kisses, teeth nipping at skin. Heat._

He’d come back after the first time. And again after that.

For over a year he’d made time in his schedule, dropping in at least once a week. Sometimes she was busy and sent him away. Sometimes she dragged him inside, tearing buttons loose before he was through the door.

It was a no-strings relationship. That was what they’d agreed.

Two months into it, he’d caught the goons of a ruined businessman Hanji had recently disgraced dumping gas around the edge of the newspaper office.

He made short work of them. Hanji, of course, had no idea. Levi hadn’t given them the chance to scream.

The following day, he saw to it that the vengeful businessman disappeared for good

After a while, Levi started posting his people near her office. Farlan and Isabel were sent to tail her home in the days following her more incendiary articles.

 _It didn’t mean anything_ , he often reminded himself. Their weekly meetings were a stress reliever. Nothing more.

Concerningly, Levi found it necessary to repeat this fact to himself more and more often as of late.

And now there was Kenny’s new play against Fritz.

Levi didn’t know the exact nature of Hanji’s grudge against the corrupt politician, but it was one that had bled into her career, driving her to out countless businessmen and political figures, destroying the reputations of the city’s worst.

And now, nudged along by the dirt Kenny had managed to procure, she was going after the king of the corrupt.

Levi couldn’t imagine Fritz would go down easily - Kenny and Rod Reiss hadn’t managed to bring him down after all these years. And even if this was, somehow, enough to ruin him, Levi knew Fritz’s type. He wouldn’t go down quietly. It would be loud, violent, and he’d make a mess of things, scraping and clawing the whole way down. Like a drowning man, he was sure to drag down everyone within arms’ reach.

Not that Kenny cared about that.

Kenny Ackerman’s office was dark, choked with smoke.

Kenny was at the center of the haze, feet up on his desk and hat pushed low on his head. In one hand he clutched a stack of papers, in his other, he balanced a cigarette. Pale smoke curled from the burning end, twisting and dissipating in the haze.

He glanced up, taking a long drag from the cigarette as Levi entered.

“My favorite nephew,” Kenny drawled, and took one last look at the papers before setting them aside. “Tell me - how the fuck did eight of Trost’s crew make it five blocks into our territory?”

Levi scoffed, folding his arms. “Five blocks? Who the fuck told you that? I got word from Duran that they were heading our way, making a fucking ruckus. Farlan and I dealt with them. They didn’t get past our 12th Street bars.”

“You killed them?”

Levi stopped - and  _shit_ , he’d hesitated a second too long.

“Jesus fuck. What did I tell you about letting shitstains like that live? Sends the message that we’re weak.”

“The Trost gang is a joke. And these assholes were drunk out of their minds. I fucking doubt they even knew they’d crossed the border into our territory.”

Kenny jerked up; his black boot struck the desk. Drawers rattled and heavy wood scraped violently against the floor.

Levi didn’t move. He forced his hands to relax at his sides.

Kenny stood, tossing his cigarette to the floor. “What about me. Huh? Do I look like a joke?”

Levi stood his ground, but carefully shifted, angling his feet and redistributing his weight. He didn’t answer.

Shoving the desk aside, Kenny approached. “I said, do I look like a fucking joke?”

“No more than usual, asshole.”

Kenny stopped short. The smoke choked room went suddenly, ominously quiet. His shoulders trembled. Between yellowing teeth, hissed a wheezing laugh. Slapping his hand on his knee, he roared with laughter.

Chest heaving, Kenny wound his fist back and struck.

Angled as he was, Levi was able to pull back some, but rough knuckles still struck his cheek.

Levi stumbled, giving a single step before catching himself. He didn’t move to strike back, but neither did he back down. He glared up through strands of dark hair, and his lip twitched in a snarl. His cheekbone flared with pain.

Shaking out his hand, Kenny cursed. “ _God damn it all_. I hate it when you make me do that. When are you gonna learn to listen to your uncle? Especially after what happened to your mama. After what those murdering sons of bitches did to my sister, to my Kuchel?”

At his mother’s name, Levi’s pulse pounded in his ears. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, clenched his hand into a fist, and found the exact place on Kenny’s face that he’d hit, right on the side of his hooked nose -

\- and stopped. Instead, Levi blew a long, slow breath. His fist loosened and released.

As good as it would feel - and it would feel _damn good_  . Hitting Kenny would only come back to bite him in the ass. Probably Mikasa too. Kenny sometimes liked to punish one for the other’s infraction.

Yeah, he was a twisted fuck. But he was also their uncle - and their boss.

Levi wasn’t going to apologize. Not that Kenny would expect him to.

Instead, Levi closed his eyes, slightly bowing his head.

It was good enough.

He heard the harsh scrape of the desk being dragged back into place. Kenny flopped back into his chair with a groan.

“You dropped off the letter?”

And just like that, Kenny was moving on. Levi relaxed. Folding his arms, he leaned back against the wall.

“Yeah,” Levi answered. “They’ve got to do some investigating - like you thought. But if everything goes as planned, you and Rod Reiss will have your smear campaign against Fritz. In plenty of time for the election. Who knows? Rod Reiss might even win this one.”

Bracing his boot against the desk, Kenny leaned back, stroking his beard. “I considered threatening the trumped-up socialite to get her to officially spill on Fritz. But she’s one of those morally self-righteous types - excepting the affair, of course. I figured sending another self-righteous bitch to talk with her would be best.”

Levi kept his face carefully blank.

Tilting his hat back, Kenny observed him.

“I have to say, the deal we’ve got with your journalist has worked out awfully well for us.”

The hairs on his arms rose.

 _Your journalist_.

Kenny’s phrasing set off a finely honed alarm in Levi’s head.

When Levi was a kid, one of the older gang members had given him a toy car. Levi had neglected a single afternoon lesson with Kenny, choosing instead, to play with the shiny toy. Kenny had found him, and he’d  taken the toy, used it for leverage to get Levi to attend the lesson. Later, Kenny crushed the car in front of him. Just for the hell of it.

Hanji was no toy - and she certainly belonged to no one - but she was in grave danger if Kenny thought Levi might care even slightly for her.

Levi lifted a brow. “Mikasa has more dealings with her than me. But it’s true, being ready for the raids is saving us a lot of money.”

Kenny nodded. “It makes me a little nervous though. Having a nosy reporter so close.” He paused to light another cigarette.

Levi stilled, watching him closely.

Kenny hissed, shaking out the match when the flame licked his finger. Balancing the glowing cigarette between his knuckles, he leaned back in the chair.

“Where was I?”

“Talking my ear off about the nosy reporter.”

“Right,” Kenny chuckled. “Well - let’s just see how all of this plays out after she publishes the article on Fritz. Once Fritz’s involved, she might not last too long anyway.” He  winked. “Maybe they’ll do us the favor of taking each other out. Now wouldn’t that be pretty fucking convenient?”

“Right,” Levi hollowly agreed. “Convenient.”

When he left Kenny’s office, the acrid scent of smoke lingered with him, clinging to his clothes. Duran called out to him, and Levi ignored him. The fucker had given Kenny a false report about the Trost street gang.  _Dick._  Levi’s cheek still throbbed.

As he marched through the house, he tried not to think about Hanji.

Yes, they’d slept together. And sure, he’d been looking out for her. It was only fair. She’d been putting her ass on the line getting them raid information - not to mention her articles often defamed political and business leaders who inconvenienced the Ackermans in some way. Kenny  _was_  getting her the dirt, after all.

Levi absently touched his vest. Still surprised her warm touch hadn’t left a trail dark, ink-stained marks.

_Shit._

Hanji Zoe was going to die before this was over. Between Fritz, Kenny, and the cops, she was a fly surrounded by invisible, slowly constricting webs.

She was going to die, and with Fritz and the Upper East Side Gang on the prowl, Levi already had more than fucking enough to worry about - not to mention a gang to manage.

_Shit. Fucking shit._

Levi threw open a heavy oak door. Beyond the city's jagged roof-line, the horizon colored with the purple light of dawn. Down at the docks, a ship distantly bellowed. Closer, a car engine growled to life.

Levi raked his fingers through his hair - and his sleeve brushed his still tender cheek. He hissed and cursed, dropping his hand.

Rod Reiss wanted the election, and Kenny wanted Rod’s power, Hanji wanted to burn Fritz, and Fritz and The Upper East Side Gang probably wanted to watch them all burn. And tomorrow, Hanji was going to look for the evidence that would set the entire shit show in motion.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

The ship bellowed again, as if in answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm having a lot of fun writing this - hope you're enjoying reading it!


	4. Chapter 4

It was late morning when Hanji hustled out of her apartment, coffee in hand. She was late.

She’d stayed at the news office later than she’d intended, and had overslept her first few alarms as a result.

Taking a healthy swig of the bitter drink, she set off through the city at a brisk pace. Amidst Sina’s grays and browns, a flash of color caught her eye.

Effortlessly slipping through the current of bodies, a figure peeled from the crowd, stepping up to walk beside her. Red hair, bright in the late morning sun, was tucked messily beneath a cap. The girl wore a patterned jumper over pants which stopped a few inches short of bony ankles.

Hands tucked in her pockets, Isabel pouted and said, “Overslept?”

“Kept you waiting, did I?” Hanji asked.

Isabel was the youngest in Kenny’s crew. And notoriously impatient.

“For  _hours_ ,” Isabel moaned, tossing her head back theatrically.

Hanji reached into her satchel, palming a pouch. She bounced it in her hand as she glanced at Isabel, lifting a single, arching brow.

Isabel’s sharp gaze fastened on the small burlap bag, following it’s bouncing path.  

Hanji tossed it to her with a wink.

Lighting fast, the girl's hands were out of her pockets, snatching the bag from the air.

Smiling indulgently, Hanji watched her tear it open, pouring a few of the plastic-wrapped caramel candies into her palm.

Isabel, whose impatience was matched by a boundless compassion and an equally boundless love of sweets, said, “You’re forgiven.” And with a bounce in her step, tossed a candy into her mouth, and said no more about the wait.

By the time they caught a cab and crossed the city to Bircham, one of Sina’s most obnoxiously wealthy neighborhoods, Isabel had eaten half her candy and Hanji had begun to drum her fingers anxiously on her bag.

Maureen Thomas’ estate was sprawling and decadent in design. The long, straight path to the front door was lined by round, faultlessly maintained bushes. Perfect red roses bloomed in the greenery.

The socialite’s mansion was an exhibition of white-washed walls and wide, arching windows. Golden accents followed the mansion’s square, perfectly symmetrical build. The thick double doors were as tall as they were wide and had been painted white to match the house.

Hanji rapped on the wood, and when that got no immediate answer, she knocked again. She was raising her fist to knock a third time when the door cracked open. It swung back at a maddeningly unhurried pace.

A portly butler peered out, fixing them with an owlish stare. Brown, graying hair was combed back over a shiny, balding head. Beneath an elaborately curling mustache, his lips wiggled in annoyance. “May I help you?” he asked in a tone which bespoke of how little he actually wished to do so.

“We’re here to see Maureen Thomas,” Hanji spoke confidently, without hesitation.  

It was the only way to talk to wealth and their ilk, really. Most didn’t like talking to those of common means. Too much of a reminder of what they’d be without their trusts and estates, she suspected.

“I’m afraid she’s not taking visitors,” he said, already closing the door.

Hanji’s palm struck the wood with a hollow slap. Forcibly holding the door ajar, she smiled, saccharine, “I wasn’t done.  _Sir_.”

The butler started, round cheeks reddening. As he sputtered his protests, Hanji leaned in, “Tell Maureen that a friend of ours intercepted her letter. She’ll see us,” Hanji said and leaned back, releasing the door.

The door slammed in their faces.

Isabel, chewing a candy, glanced dubiously up at her.

Crossing her arms, Hanji wiggled her brows at the girl and nodded back towards the door.

The door wrenched back open.

A manicured hand braced the painted wood. Maureen Thomas, blonde hair curled, green eyes ringed in kohl, full lips painted a daring red, and clad in nothing more than a robe of luxurious blue silk, stood before them. Glaring.

“And who the hell are you?”

“Hello Maureen,” Hanji said, responding to her glare with a polite smile. “We’re here about the letter. Perhaps...we should talk inside,” she added, glancing pointedly at the trafficked street behind them.

Maureen, following her gaze, reluctantly stepped aside, beckoning them in.

The manor opened before them, magnificent in its grandeur and opulent in the extreme. Marble floors shined, catching the glowing light of a chandelier that hung above them. Paintings decorated every wall - one of which was a ten foot wide portrait of Maureen herself. Enfolded in dress of resplendent gold, the woman in the portrait reclined on a couch, green eyes gazing distantly at something beyond the frame.

Maureen led them in, heels clicking brazenly on the floor. Her silk robes fluttered, and she motioned for them to follow. With a single, cold gesture, she directed the butler to wait in the hall.

They followed Maureen into an office. A desk, empty - clean of dust and paper alike, sat immaculately in a corner. The space was dominated by a couch and two armchairs. An office forcibly transformed to sitting room, Hanji thought, looking around them.

Maureen wrenched the double doors they’d come through closed, and dropped with effortless elegance onto the velvet cushions of the couch. Sharing a glance, Hanji and Isabel each took an armchair.

The room was darker than the entryway. There was a large window behind the desk, but heavy curtains were drawn. Behind them, a narrow set of slatted wooden doors led to another room - or a closet - Hanji couldn’t be sure of which it was.

Maureen crossed her legs and leaned forward. Tapping a finger delicately against her chin, she tilted her head, observing them. She frowned, evidently displeased by her observations, and said, voice smooth and dangerous as a snake, “You want money then?”

Hanji looked from the finger against her chin, to her restlessly tapping foot, and the green eyes flitting sharply between them. Maureen Thomas was a woman trapped. Likely accustomed to freedom and choice all her life, she was now being held ransom for a single indiscretion.

“I don’t want your money.”

A sculpted brow twitched. Maureen glanced to Isabel, “What about you?”

“Don’t look at me,” Isabel shook her head. “I’m just here with her.”

At that, her eyes were back on Hanji. “You illegally intercepted and read my private correspondence, so I’m assuming you’re not here to discuss the weather over tea and biscuits,” Maureen said, and frowned. “Get on with it.”

“How much money does Fritz want you to contribute to his campaign? You didn’t give a specific amount in the letter to your mother,” Hanji said, leaning back in her chair.

Maureen’s tapping foot stilled. Her eyes narrowed and she answered, “He wants three installments. The first is already paid. All together, it’s an inconvenience, nothing more.”

“You think it’ll stop there?” Hanji asked, and glanced around the opulently decorated room, as if to emphasize all there was to take. Because that was the thing about men like Fritz. No amount was never enough. Armed with a secret the wealthy socialite would pay dearly for; he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d bled her for all she was worth.

“Please. There are ways of hiding money. Making it disappear. He won’t get everything,” Maureen said, her voice light. A forced calm.

“More than you’d like.”

Glancing away, Maureen conceded, “Yes. That.”

“You know you’re not the first person he’s blackmailed.”

Maureen’s hard stare was answer enough.

“You could do something about it.”

“What  _exactly_  is it that you think I can do?” Maureen said and leaned back, resting her arms along the couch’s back.

“Tell your story. To everyone. The police. Show the world what kind of a man he is.” Hanji said. “You’re popular. Well liked. Your reputation will survive this. And it will be a significant blow against him.”

“My reputation?” Maureen scoffed. “I had an affair with a married man.  _That_  is my story. Once that comes out, I’m hardly going to be a reputable source.”

“An affair isn’t so scandalous. Not in this day and age.”

This was met with another hard stare. “You underestimate the judgment of the masses.”

“I merely estimate that they will be more keen to see an oppressor brought to justice than a well-liked woman brought down for a momentary slip in judgement,” Hanji said, holding the socialite’s stare.

Gears in an ornate standing clock turned; ticks punctuated the heavy seconds.

“I asked before, and you didn’t answer. Who are you?” Maureen asked, punctuating each word.

“Hanji Zoe. Writer and editor for  _The Sina Times_ ,” Hanji said. Dipping her head, she added, “A simple journalist. Someone eager to give this city the truths it’s been denied so long.”

Maureen swallowed, glancing away. “You want to write a piece then. I’m sure it would be a windfall for you. You’d sell that paper faster than you could print it.”

“I couldn’t care less about the money. I’ll give the papers away, Maureen. The election is within the week. You know what that means.”

“You want to bring the bastard to his knees.” When Maureen spoke, there was an edge to her voice. Her fingers drummed along the back of the couch. Her foot had resumed its tapping.

“Miss Thomas, there is nothing that would bring me greater joy,” Hanji said, feeling seeping into her words.

Flawless red lips quirked to the side. Maureen shifted. “I think I like you Hanji Zoe.”

For a long, impossibly frozen moment, quiet ticks punctuated the room.

“How do you want to do this then?” Maureen said, and stood.

This was it.

Before she’d even fully processed Maureen’s words, Hanji was speaking. She’d spent half the night developing plans for this possibility. “I’ll take a full statement from you. Enough to start drafting the article. Then we’ll call the police. I know the local deputy police chief. It won’t be hard to convince him to send a few men to escort you to the station. So that you can tell your story to Erwin himself. You’ll be well protected, of course.”

“You’ve thought of everything.” Maureen said, pulling a crystal decanter from a cabinet in the wall.

“I try to - when I can. Fritz is not a man to be underestimated.”

“Good,” Maureen said, and poured sloshing, amber liquid into three glasses. Her robe fluttered around her as she returned, setting the drinks delicately on the table between them.

Maureen took a deep swig of the drink, cleared her throat, and asked, “So where do you want me to start?”

Hanji took a quick sip of her drink before fumbling for her notepad. Isabel ignored her drink entirely and reached in her pocket for another candy instead.

Flinging ink-stained pages aside, Hanji at last uncovered a blank one. She readied her pen and said, “The affair. How did it begin? When?”

Closing her eyes, Maureen opened her mouth - and was interrupted by a light tap on the office door.

“Miss Thomas,” the butler spoke, muffled by the heavy wood. “I apologize, but...you have visitors.”

Maureen frowned, setting the glass aside. “Who?”

At first, the butler didn’t answer, and Hanji wondered if he hadn’t heard Maureen speak. But moments later, he answered, hesitating, as if struggling to decide exactly what to say, “It’s, ah, how should I - ah well, the Mayor, Mr. Fritz, and a few of his, er, associates are waiting in the hall.”

The room when instantly, painfully silent.

Distantly, Hanji was aware of a dull pounding taking over her chest. She wrenched her head, staring in abject horror at the door.

Fritz...was here?

“Miss?” The butler’s probing voice called through the door.

It broke them from their stupor.

Hanji and Isabel surged up.

Maureen, skirting the table, grabbed Hanji’s wrist. Her hands were cool, and her grip stronger than Hanji would have expected. She pulled Hanji and reached for Isabel, but the girl was already following.

“Hide. Hurry,” Maureen hissed, pushing Hanji in the direction of the second set of doors at the back of the room.

She tore them open. A closet.

Hanji glanced wildly about the room, looking for another exit.

Isabel was doing the same.

The only other way out was the window, and it was sealed. They wouldn’t get out that way unless they broke their way through.

There was no other choice.

Grabbing Isabel’s shoulder, Hanji pulled her into the narrow space.

Maureen stood, hands on either side of the open doors, her wide green eyes the only crack in a perfectly composed countenance.

The office doors creaked. The sound of weak protest echoed in from the hall.

“Miss Thomas,” The butler called, sounding flustered. “Your guests are coming in.”

Maureen closed the doors with a snap.

Darkness swallowed them whole.

Bending, Hanji peered through one of the long slats in the wood.

She felt Isabel’s hand, a light warning touch on her shoulder.

Maureen skipped to the couch, falling into a relaxed seat as the office doors burst open.

Mayor Fritz strolled into the room.

Hanji forgot to breathe.

_He’d changed little since -_

The mayor wore a fine, gray three-piece suit. His shoes were dark, shined. Scratching a hand against his pale beard, he smiled, showing rows of impeccably white teeth. “Maureen. So good to see you.”

Fingers trembling, Hanji forced her hands into fists.  _Be still_ , she clenched her fists, ordering them.

Fritz’s blond hair was slicked back - just like it had been when - _back when_ -

Hanji’s thoughts stopped, stalling uselessly as she watched as the man of her nightmares casually sit in the chair she had just occupied.

He was followed by three men. They were also dressed in suits, though none of theirs were as nice as Fritz’s. These men wore the suits like costumes; for appearance’s sake alone. They weren’t born of money. Likely, they’d taken it by force. Hanji would bet her printing press that they had allegiance to the Lower East Side Mob.

“Fritz. Darling,” Maureen purred. “You’ve got to stop dropping in like this. At least give me five minutes’ warning. Then I’d be able to put on something decent.”

“My dear,” Fritz said, his voice soft, perfectly sincere, “You could choose to dress in nothing but flour sacks and still be the picture of loveliness - and envy of half the town.”

Maureen smiled, tossing her hair. “You flatter me.”

“Simply the truth,” he said, leaning back, settling comfortably into the chair.

“Well,” Maureen said, leaning back, as if to mirror his ease. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today, Mayor?’

“As you know, the election is nearing. I’ve come to see about your campaign contributions,” he said, still jovial.

“I’ve already sent the first installment.”

“Yes. Thank you dear. I’ve come today to see if there will be a second.”

Maureen’s expression remained cool, but one of her fingers twitched where it rested on the arm of the couch. The three men stood, arms clasped in front of them, around the back of Mayor Fritz’s chair.

Isabel’s hand was tightening on her shoulder. The girl shifted, removing something from inside her shirt. Bent awkwardly, Hanji watched the scene in the office. Her lungs burned, but she couldn’t manage a full breath.

“A second?” Maureen questioned. “Of course - we agreed there would be. Do you doubt me, Mayor?” She asked, pouting.

“Oh you know me, always careful when it comes to affairs such as these,” Fritz said, and folded his hands. “I heard that you had visitors.”

The silence in the wake of his second statement hung over the room, thick, nearly palpable. The insistent ticking of the grandfather clock measured it’s horrible length.

As if drawn by some unseen force, all eyes in the room shifted downward - to the table where the three unfinished drinks remained.

“Who was here, Maureen?” Fritz asked, menacingly calm.

Maureen shook her head, composure slipping. “Oh, you know, just some old friends,” she whispered. Her throat sounded tight.

Again, silence descended on them.

Fritz sighed.

It was too much.

The dark space around her was closing in. She was no longer in a closet - no - it was a cupboard. Her legs were folded, knees against chest. Small nails scraped, scoring deep gouges in small legs. She had to get out - glass was breaking. Someone was screaming. Her parents -  _no,_  Maureen -

Hanji reached blindly for the door.

A small, hard hand grabbed hers, restraining.

“I’m disappointed, Maureen,” Fritz said, and sank back into the chair. “Well then,” he sighed again and made a small motion with his hand.

It was followed by a deceptively soft noise. A subtle  _thwack._

Maureen’s head snapped back in a horrible, violent jerk.

The beautiful socialite folded back into the velvet cushions of the couch. A red hole blossomed at the center of her forehead. The couch behind her was a mosaic.

Hanji’s throat was on fire. Isabel was moving beside her, wrapping thin, restraining arms around her as Hanji heaved a soft, gasping breath. She shuddered, holding it in. It was just like back then.  _Not a sound. Hold it in._

One of Fritz’s men lowered a black gun. Its nose was abnormally long. Hanji hadn’t even seen him draw it out of his coat.

“Who do you think it was?” One of the men asked.

Fritz frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose, and said. “Could be police. But I doubt it. More likely it was some of Reiss’ guys - Ackermans maybe - looking for something to use against me. Possibly some nosy reporters with the news.”

“We could have asked her,” one of the men said, scratching his head.

“I couldn’t risk her screaming,” Fritz said, rising. “I suspect she would have told us little, anyway.” He gave the body one last long look before picking up Maureen’s glass and downing the rest of the liquid. “I want you to spread out, search the area. See if we can track anyone down.”

“...what about our guns pick-up?” One of the men murmured. “We have our meeting with Zackly-”

“You’ll make your meeting!” Fritz snapped, finally losing patience. “He’s selling you my supply. They’re not going to be sold out from under you.”

In her daze, Hanji squinted, straining to see - to listen. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest, but they were talking about gun sales. Illegal, by the sound of it. And had that guy just said  _Police Chief Zackly_?

The men were moving, leaving the room. The stinging pressure of her nails against her palms brought Hanji fully back to her senses.

Maureen was gone.

Murdered.

Fritz was, once again, getting rid of the evidence against him. They’d have little to tie him to this murder - apart from Maureen’s letter to her mother. And Hanji would bet anything Fritz’s next stop would be to threaten Maureen’s lover into silence.

Shrugging off Isabel’s warning hand, Hanji grabbed for her satchel. It was heavy with the weight of her folding camera. She had an idea.

Isabel was grabbing at her, trying to still her. Twisting, Hanji held her by the shoulder. “Isabel,” she breathed, barely a whisper. “As soon as they leave the room, I’m going to take a picture of Maureen’s body.” She breathed, and added, “And then I’ll get a picture of Fritz and his men as they leave.” She squeezed Isabel. “When I take the second picture, you’ll have to break the window. It will be our only means of escape.”

“Hanji,” Isabel whispered, her voice shook.

“We can do this. We have to. Or he’ll get away with it. Again.”

Outside, the office doors swung open. The butler gave a startled shout. A heavy body slapped the marble floor.

“ _Isabel_ ,” Hanji whispered.

The office doors closed.

“I’m breaking open the window as soon as you open those doors,” Isabel hissed, and flung open the closet.

Hanji stumbled up, knees protesting her bent position. Readying the camera, she clicked two rapid pictures, forcing herself to look at the vibrant woman who’d spoken with them only moments ago. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and over her chest. Something violent and ugly was churning in her stomach, and Hanji was afraid she might be sick - but they hadn’t the time.

Across the room, Isabel roamed in front of an elaborate bookshelf, testing the weight of a small copper globe in her hand.

Hanji marched across the room, prepping the camera for her next picture. She didn’t allow herself to think about what she was about to do. Think too much and she might not open the office doors at all. She’d better just do it.

One hand on the camera, Hanji flung the office doors wide.

The butler lay in a pool of blood. Beyond him, standing in front of the mansion’s large, open doors, Fritz and the three men twisted to face her.

Click.

Her camera flashed, damningly bright in the hall.

Cold gray eyes fastened upon her.

For one awful, endless moment, Frtiz stared at her and she stared back.

And then he was shouting, pointing, raising his meaty fist.

His men were grabbing for their guns.

Hanji skittered backwards as the heavy office doors swung back, giving her momentary cover.

Behind, there was the crash of breaking glass.

Hanji turned, vaulting over the coffee table, overturning a drink in her haste.

She couldn’t look at Maureen - there wasn’t time to look at Maureen.

At the window, Isabel swiped a book along the bottom edge, clearing it of the sharpest glass. She turned, reaching back.

The office doors slammed open.

The gun was ready in Isabel’s hand. “Go!” She shouted, and fired off a cacophonous round.

Hanji leapt through the window, hugging her camera against her chest. Landing in a bush, she stumbled, and found her feet.

Isabel vaulted after her with a shout.

Bullets tore through the air, screaming past.

Isabel gasped as she landed, reaching reflexively for her leg. She rose, stumbling from the bush as blood seeped, staining the fabric against her outer thigh.

“ _Isabel._ ” Hanji turned back, reaching for her.

“Just a graze,” she hissed, surging up. “ _Go._ ”

The air whistled as a bullet flew by, barely missing her head. Hanji jumped back. Fumbling with the camera, she tucked it into her satchel as she and Isabel sprinted through the garden. A nearby rose was eviscerated with the hard  _thwack_  of hot lead.

Hanji jumped, climbing up the iron gate. Isabel gasped, injured leg shaking. One hand on the top of the fence, Hanji reached back. Heaving with all her might, she hauled Isabel up with her.

They dropped awkwardly onto the street below. Isabel clutching her leg - and Hanji clutching Isabel, the pair stumbled across the street, hobbling through a nearby alley.

They had to get to a busy street. If they could slip into a crowd, they might make it, Hanji thought, desperately glancing over her shoulder.

Exiting the alleyway with haste, they jogged across a second street, slipping onto a sidewalk starting to fill with the midday lunch crowd.

Still. They stuck out.

Isabel’s pants were soaked in blood. And Hanji knew all color had long since drained from her face.

Isabel clutched her, dragging Hanji to the right. “This way,” she said, biting her lip against the pain.

“Where are we going?” Hanji asked, glancing for what felt like the hundredth time over her shoulder.

No sight of them. Yet.

“A safehouse. One of Levi’s.”

Levi’s. Not the Ackerman’s. An interesting distinction. Later, Hanji would wonder what reasons Levi had for maintaining his own safehouse, apart from his uncle and the rest of the gang - but for now, Isabel was her priority. The girl leaned heavily against her.

“We need to put pressure on your wound. Stop the bleeding.” Hanji said, mentally calculating the distance to the closest clinic. The Ackerman’s wouldn’t like it, but Hanji wasn’t about to let Isabel bleed out in front of her.

As if reading her mind, Isabel shook her head. “The safehouse. It’s close. I’ll make it there.”

They did. Barely.

Isabel, fumbling with the key, got the door open. Hanji shoved them through, into the dark hall, as Isabel swayed.Slapping on light switches as they stumbled in, Hanji got Isabel onto a couch in the living room.

Sprinting upstairs, she found a towel and an aid kit in the bathroom.

Downstairs, Isobel had already removed her pants.

Her assessment had been correct. A long, clean graze sliced through the skin of her outer thigh. Isabel hissed as Hanji pressed the towel firmly against the wound.

“Sorry,” Hanji muttered.

Isabel shook her head, biting her lip against the pain. “Just -  _gah_ ,” She gasped, “Just give me another candy.”

Hanji heaved a surprised chuckle, and reached blindly down, dragging the candy bag out of the pants on the floor.

“I think I owe you more candy.”

At that, Isabel cracked open an eye, “How much candy are we talking?”

“How much candy will it take for you not to tell Levi - or anyone else about this?” Hanji countered.

Closing her eyes, Isabel groaned, “Hanji-”

“Hold that thought,” Hanji said, placing Isabel’s hand on the towel to maintain pressure.

Breaking open the first aid kit, she peeled the towel back. Isabel hissed as Hanji swiftly cleaned the wound and began tightly wrapping it.

“It was a rushed picture that I took back there. With any luck, it will come out. But it’s not a guarantee,” Hanji admitted as she worked.

Her hand had been steady - or as steady as it could have been. She closed her eyes, picturing the scene - doors swung wide open, Fritz and his men, the bright daylight behind them.

God, she hoped the pictures were clear. If Fritz was clearly visible, this was it. Everything they would need. A picture that placed Fritz at the murder scene of a popular socialite. The evidence didn’t get much more damning than that.

As Hanji finished the wrapping, Isabel winced. “They must have got a good look at you,” Isabel said, opening her eyes. “Got a glimpse of me. They’ll be looking for you, Hanji. If that picture doesn’t come out, you have  _nothing_  against them. Nothing to protect yourself.”

Hanji swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. They might have made me.” Pressing her lips together, she looked up. “And what do you think Kenny will do if he discovers Fritz knows what I look like? That he’s looking for me?”

Hanji knew that the two long years she’d worked with the Ackermans made her a powerful asset and an equally powerful liability. To put it simply, she knew too much.

Isabel, already pale from blood loss, went a shade whiter. “We can tell Levi, Hanji. He’s not -” she stopped, hesitating. “He’s not Kenny.”

“But he’s responsible for the well-being of the gang. If this picture doesn’t pan out, I  _am_ a risk now.”

“Levi wouldn’t-”

“He would have to do  _something_ , Isabel,” Hanji snapped, and breathed out, forcing her voice to be calm. “If he knows what happened today, he will be forced to act. One way or another.”

Isabel, watching her, had gone completely still. Shaking her head, she frowned, “Stop looking at me like that. I like you, dummy. I’m not gonna put a bullet in your head just cause Fritz is looking for you.”

Hanji winced at her wording, seeing Maureen, again, laid out on that couch. But at Isabel’s earnest expression, she managed a small smile.

If the pictures came out they wouldn’t have as much to worry about, certainly. And if they didn’t... then Hanji would have to find some other dirt on Fritz - before he found her. And preferably before the damn election.

Isabel was watching her carefully. “I won’t tell anyone. Not yet.” She paused, thinking. “I’ll tell them we found her dead in the office.”

Hanji glanced down at her wound.

“I’ve hidden worse before,” Isabel replied.

Hanji slumped back, leaning heavily against the couch. “Thank you, Isabel. For this secret - and everything today. I owe you. A lot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isabel muttered. “Don’t think I won’t call you on it. Anyway, big-bro Levi would have been pissed if I’d let you die on my watch.”

“He would have been more upset had his troublesome reporter come back without his favorite mobster.” Hanji said, leaning her head back on the couch.

Isabel’s only response was a single thoughtful hum.

Hanji sighed, reaching back to pat Isabel’s good leg, and closed her eyes, haunted by snapshot-like images of Maureen’s blank stare and that red-splattered tapestry of a couch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're very much in the rising action stage here so...heads up?
> 
> Tw: blood, violence, minor character death

Words are, as a general rule, an orderly business.

Sure, for writers, they may frustrate, and for poor readers, they can surely confound. But assigned to all words are one or two widely accepted definitions. Armed with an up-to-date dictionary, one could manage an understanding of even the most complex language.

People are not like words.

In Sina, a man could be a gangster, husband, lover, father, killer. Depending on the day, the hour, the minute, the identities of the citizens of Sina were in varying states of flux.

Historia Reiss, for instance, was considered by a good many to be a sort of patron-guardian, a wealthy benefactor for the weak. The founder of a handful of orphanages and one busy halfway home for mothers and their children - to the lost and the listless, her homes were the barest brush of sunlight after a long winter. And that made Historia, who checked on her properties, sweeping in with her big eyes and bright smile, leaving alms and gifts in her wake, like the sun itself, a beacon for the lost and broken.

Historia Reiss was, technically speaking, a daughter. Beautiful, polite, silent, she trailed after her father, a pale shadow that followed dutifully, dully, from party, to press conference, to parade. Wide blue eyes tracked a father’s back.

He never stopped, of course. Never spared a single glance over his shoulder. Rod Reiss had eyes for the cameras alone, and his smiles were a gift reserved for the politicians and the press.

Rod Reiss was a broken thing - though not like the mothers and children. He was not a crushed, battered product of a careless world. No, something inside him was flawed. Historia liked to think he’d been broken from the start.

He hadn’t loved her mother. She’d been a whore; nothing more than a momentary distraction from Rod’s elite university education.

Historia had grown up, an afterthought in her mother’s life, and then, when her mother tired of her, an afterthought at an orphanage. She was ten before Rod Reiss realized he had use for her.

Wrapped in blue chiffon, Historia knelt. She moved stiffly, constricted by bows and frills. Bracing a hand on the crate beside her, Historia reached in, drawing out a velvet, big-eared bear. Balanced on two needle-point heels, she held the toy aloft.

A boy, hands grubby and face smudged with dirt, watched her with wide, sullen eyes.

He was the newest addition to her Westmens orphanage. His parents, small-time thieves, had been gunned down by trigger happy police outside their home. With no relatives - at least, none willing to claim him, he’d ended up on the orphanage’s front steps.

Historia brushed a hand over the bear’s velvet ears and offered a smile - the warmest she had it in her to give.

It felt false, as if the upturning of her lips disturbed a layer of dried, flaking paint, cracking on her skin. She worried that one day the last of the facade would finally flake away, and she’d be left with nothing but the bare, honest truth of what lay beneath those cracking smiles. 

The boy, however, didn’t notice. With a single, stumbling step, he stretched his arm up and flexed his fingers, reaching.

Pudgy fingers squeezed, clutching the bear as Historia gently passed it down.

A click pierced the silence. Immediately after, a harsh, white flash.

The moment was captured, immortalizing the split second the toy passed from Historia Reiss’s hand to the boy’s.

Over her shoulder, perfectly in line with the camera, Councilmen Rod Reiss stood. The loving smile he wore when he posed behind his daughter was a remarkably convincing lie.

When Historia was ten, she’d mistaken it for real. It had taken her a long year to realize her father only smiled at her when he had an audience.

She’d noticed her father’s cool demeanor, of course. The distance with which he regarded her. His public, half-hearted hugs. 

But after her mother’s neglect - and the orphanage’s indifference - being wanted, cared for, was akin to being tucked in a warm coat after a lifetime in the biting cold.

Reluctant to give up that warmth, for a few years at least, she’d tried to pretend.

It hadn’t worked. Her mother hadn’t loved her. And neither did Rod Reiss. No amount of pretending could convince her otherwise.

Historia didn’t waste time feeling sorry for herself. The sky was blue; Sina winters were bitingly cold; her father didn’t love her. It was a fact, and she’d learned to accept it.

By nineteen, she knew the truths of the world well enough. So Historia set out to reshape it - in her own way. It hadn’t been unreasonably difficult to convince Rod Reiss that the Reiss Family Charity Foundation would make for good press.

Rod Reiss was a broken man, incapable of loving anything but himself. Historia was a broken thing too, unloved and unwanted - just like the children and the mothers. But the foundation, the homes she had built, they were something, at least. She might be a political pawn, a figurehead of a daughter, but in this useless existence, she’d done at least one thing which counted.

Passing a toy car to a round faced girl, Historia reached down and brushed her fingers through her hair.

Her father, stepping up behind her, placed a sweaty hand on her shoulder.

The cameras flashed.  

Historia smiled.

Paint cracked.

* * *

 

“A goddamn beautiful night for kicking ass,” Kenny sang, swinging his arms in a sweeping arc. Bouncing on his toes, he sauntered, strolling unconcerned through Sina’s empty streets.

The roads were dark, illuminated by dim, flickering street lamps. A few stragglers from the bars shuffled home, scurrying like roaches, keeping to the shadows. Levi watched them, frowning at their staggering procession.

Mikasa, walking on Kenny’s other side, scanned the streets. Adept at ignoring Kenny’s outbursts, she reserved focus for the task at hand.

Patting to ensure his gun was within easy reach, Levi watched the shadows. “You said this was a covert patrol, Kenny,” he said, sliding a glare toward his uncle. “Any gang slipping into our territory’s gonna clear out when they hear us coming.” 

- _or, they’d come running, eager for a fight_. But Levi suspected this was likely what Kenny wanted. His suspicions were confirmed when Kenny answered.

“Nah. See, what I’m doing is drawing them suckers out. Like moths to a fucking flame,” Kenny said, wheezing a sharp laugh. It echoed, ricocheting between buildings of brick and stone. In the long, heavy hours that bridged night and morning, the harsh sound was almost grotesque.

Mikasa stiffened at the noise. Levi saw her hand twitch, inching toward her weapon, as her gaze traced the darkened alleys on either side of them.

The Ackerman gang was strong; they were well established as one of the most powerful gangs in the city - but even that wasn’t enough to protect them from occasional short-lived, but vicious attacks from small-time gangs.

In some ways, the smaller gangs were more dangerous than the large, established ones. The powerful gangs, through drawn-out skirmishes, had divvied up Sina’s sprawling territory. Now, the big gangs mostly stuck to their own areas of established power. The small gangs didn’t have that luxury. The hardened products of economic disparity and the loveless city they called home, they roamed the city in packs. Like starving dogs, they fought and scrounged, taking by force the wealth they felt had been denied to them.

In recent years, the distance between Sina’s elite and its struggling poor had widened. Sina’s wealthy had never had more. And the poor - well, they’d certainly had better times than these. It was really no surprise that so many had taken to the streets, determined to steal back what poor luck and injustice had conspired in stealing from them.

Gangs were the product of a people who had tired of powerlessness. Of course, gangs like the Ackermans and the Lower East Siders were the only gangs rich and armed well enough to really and truly be considered powerful. Still, it didn’t stop the small ones from existing and making general nuisances of themselves.

“With the election coming up, we gotta show our strength,” Kenny said, grabbing his hat, and twirling it around his index finger. “Folks in this city know Reiss is supported by the Ackermans. By protecting our territory, we send a message: We take care of what’s ours - and by extension, Reiss will too.”

“We take care of the bastards who can afford to pay for our protection,” Levi corrected, an edge creeping into his tone. Levi knew better than to let his annoyance show, but he’d had to sit through two business meetings with Kenny today already. By now, his uncle’s voice had turned grating.

The hard scrape of a boot on asphalt was his only warning. Levi tensed, but was too slow in ducking. A heavy fist struck his ear.

Levi stumbled. The quiet night was swallowed by a cacophonous ringing. Biting back a curse, he reared back, clutching a hand to the throbbing cartilage around his ear.

“You and that fucking impertinent mouth of yours. When will you  _learn_?” Kenny’s voice loomed overhead. Rough. Biting.

Levi’s lips twitched. Baring his teeth, he glared at the dark street and allowed the painful throbbing of his ear to wash over him. The pain was real. It anchored him, drove any hot, murderous thoughts from his head. Kenny was not his enemy. _He and Mikasa would not survive having Kenny as their enemy._ Sometimes, Levi needed to remind himself of this fact.

“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Levi glanced up at Kenny’s sharp tone.

Mikasa had stepped toward them. Her expression was dark. A pale fist was frozen, half raised.

Levi shot her a sharp, warning look.

She halted, fist snapping open and hand dropping innocently back to her side.

Giving Mikasa one last, long look, Kenny turned, pressed his hat firmly on his head, and sighed. “You two are gonna be the death of me. Don’t you get what I’m  _tryin’ to teach you_?”

Straightening, Levi watched his uncle, silent. He knew better than to attempt to answer this question.

Mikasa’s eyes were on her cousin. Levi gave his tender ear one last rub and dropped his hand. Dipping his chin, he gave Mikasa a short nod. He was fine.

“Emotions make you  _weak_. Caring makes you  _weak_. And you know what Sina does to the weak?” Kenny asked.

Levi and Mikasa waited.

“It fucks them, bleeds them dry, and then bleeds everything and everyone they were fucking stupid enough to love,” Kenny barked, and spit. “Giving charity is weak. We protect those who can afford our protection - and don’t waste our time giving a damn about those who can’t.”

Swearing loudly, Kenny adjusted his hat and stomped forward. “Kuchel was too soft. And now she’s nothing but dust and ash. Think about that,” he said, spitting the words harshly behind him.

Levi’s pulse throbbed, something deep inside splitting and fracturing at his mother’s name.

A hard hand on his shoulder snapped him back.

Mikasa watched him, dark eyes narrowed with concern.

Brushing her hand gently away, Levi straightened and followed after their uncle. Kenny was a dick, but he was right - in a way. Levi couldn’t afford these emotions. Not now.

By the time he and Mikasa caught up to Kenny, a sound was growing in the sleeping city. Though distant, the timbre of raised voices was clear. A disturbance in the quiet night.

It was coming from the direction of several shopping districts under Ackerman protection.

Following Kenny’s lead, Levi and Mikasa broke into a jog.

Restaurant by day, speakeasy bar by night, The Skinned Potato was under Ackerman protection. In addition to paying the monthly rate, the owners bought alcohol at a discounted price from the Ackermans - and gave them a share of their profits.

When the Ackermans arrived, the owners of the Skinned Potato were outside, getting into it with five men.

One of the owners, a brown-haired woman, stood, rifle braced against her shoulder, facing down the men. The other owner, a lanky man with a shaved head, shouted, waving a cast-iron skillet over his head.

The five men who spread around them were armed with guns and knives - and swayed, laughing uproariously as they taunted the pair. One turned and Levi caught a glimpse of dark ink on his neck. A rose.

“Lower East Side scum,” Levi said it like a swear.

They weren’t like the other, smaller gangs, infringing on taken territory as a matter of survival. A host of successful gambling houses and two distilleries meant the East Siders weren’t wanting for cash. No, they were here to have some fun. And likely to stir up trouble ahead of the election.

Kenny whistled.

The shouts halted. It was almost comical to see seven heads twist simultaneously in their direction.

“Which Lower East Side dickwad wants to die first?” was Kenny’s battle cry as he brandished twin pistols and fired.

Mikasa and Levi split, diving to either side as three things happened at once.

One of the East Siders careened back, felled by Kenny’s first shot.

The business owners, ducked back, running for their shop.

The East Siders, twisting to face the new threat, opened fire.

Levi ducked behind a dumpster. Bullets peppered the metal, clanging wildly as he grabbed his gun. Twisting around the other side, he fired off three shots.

One of the men stumbled back, taking a shot to the shoulder. The other two ducked down, weaving to the side.

Kenny, charging the group, reached the pack of East Siders and used his gun to clock one in the face. Shoving a chamber into the empty gun, Kenny fired a shot up under his chin. In a grotesque explosion of red, the man jerked back and crumpled.

Mikasa shot another point blank in the chest. As she did, his friend attacked from the side. A knife glinted, catching the street lamp’s pale glow as it slashed. She dodged, grappling for the weapon.

Levi was already moving, sprinting across the street. As Mikasa twisted, disarming the man, the last injured gangster surged up behind her. Levi tackled him, using momentum to drive his bulky figure into the ground.

From above, Levi heard a wet gurgle as Mikasa used the other gangster’s knife against him.

Levi punched the man beneath him. His head struck the pavement and his eyes rolled back.

And with that, the simple, sleepy silence returned.

Surrounded by bodies, Levi and Mikasa straightened. Blood darkened the pavement.

Mikasa tossed the bloodied knife to the ground.

Kenny, lifting his pistol, stepped over the unconscious Lower East Side Gangster. He fired a single shot into the man’s temple and the violent  _crack_  seemed to pierce the night. The man’s limbs jolted, like a spider’s legs spasming on the pavement, and stilled. His head lolled to the side.

Levi glanced away. Beside him, he glimpsed Mikasa doing the same.

From the restaurant’s dim entryway, there was a shocked exhale. The business owners, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, looked on in horrified fascination.

Tucking his gun loosely in his belt, Kenny grinned and spread his arms. “As promised, the Ackerman’s protection.”

Mikasa, stepping up to them, held up her hands. “Sasha and Connie, right?”

Warily, they nodded.

“Go back inside. Tell no one about this. The Lower East Side Mob won’t bother you again.”

The young man and woman nodded, eyes wide. Sasha moved first. Shouldering her rifle, she hooked a hand in her partner’s elbow. Nodding their thanks, the two disappeared back into the shop.

Left alone in the silent street, the Ackermans glanced around at the grisly scene.

“We should clean this up,” Levi said, moving to reach for one of the bodies.

He was stopped by a hard grip on his arm.

“Leave them. As a message,” Kenny said, smiling a wide, feral grin in spite of - or perhaps,  _because of_  the carnage.

Levi frowned. “This kind of scene will have the cops swarming over the area in the morning. We don’t need that. Especially so close to the election.”

“We have enough coppers in our pocket. I’m not worried.”

They missed the hiss of regulation shoes sliding over pavement.

“ _What the_  - hands up!” A loud, tremulous voice ordered.

Levi and Mikasa dodged back, jumping for the shadows.

Kenny, guns already in hand, twisted, firing. Two shots rang out, nearly indistinguishable from one another.

The two cops, likely come to investigate the noise, dropped where they stood.

Mikasa swore quietly under her breath.

Levi could only stare.

It was one thing to send a few gangsters to the big sleep. The cops didn’t like it so much when you offed a couple boys in blue.

Levi glared, horrified, at his uncle. “What. The fuck.”

Kenny spat, re-holstering his guns. “Recognized one of them. A cop on the Lower East Side’s payroll.”

“Yeah,” Levi countered, “what about the other one?”

Kenny shrugged, “An unfortunate casualty. It happens.”

Closing his eyes, Levi shoved his gun back in his side holster.  _Jesus fuck_ , his uncle was going to get them  _all_  killed.

“The cops are gonna be on us for this, you know,” Levi snarled.

“And what did I _just_  say about running that fucking mouth?” Kenny said.

Mikasa, who’d been silent until now, stepped between them. “Regardless, we need to leave. Now, more than ever, we can’t be caught here.”

That, at least, Kenny seemed to understand. Coughing one last fat glob of spit on the back of one of the dead East Siders, Kenny sauntered down the street.

It was one thing to kill a dirty cop, but one of them had been innocent. A good cop who happened to stumble upon a territorial dispute - and found himself on the wrong end of Kenny’s gun.

Kenny may have very well brought the wrath of the Sina Police upon their heads - at a time when Fritz and the Lower East Side Gang already had it out for them.

Mikasa met Levi’s gaze. He nodded once. She nodded back.

Kenny, in his rashness, had placed them all in danger. But Levi and Mikasa - they’d keep their heads down, do what they had to in order to survive. Like always.

For now, they had at least a few hours of patrolling left.

Digging a cloth rag from his pocket, Levi wiped a smear of blood from the back of his hand. His eyes were drawn, as if by force, to the face of the innocent cop. Wide brown eyes stared blankly up. He was young.

Swallowing roughly, Levi dropped the bloody rag on the street and stepped away from the cop, steeling himself for a long night.

* * *

 

Hands bathed in red, Hanji worked, bent over the photo trays. The acrid smell of chemicals wafted from the liquid as it sloshed, gently slapping the walls of the tray. In the dark, she squinted, watching images take form.

She’d stayed with Isabel in the safe house for most of the day. By the time Isabel had recovered enough to be on her way, the sun was sinking beyond the horizon. Now, after getting the dark room ready and prepping the film, the night waned.

Scrunching her nose to adjust her glasses, Hanji peered into the dark water.

Like a phantom, Maureen’s pale shape took form.

Fumbling the photo stick, Hanji braced shaking hands on the tray’s edge.

Maureen’s face was white. Her wide, dark eyes stared blankly up at her. And at the center of her forehead - that horrendously dark spot.

Hanji was reminded, darkly, of Maureen’s portrait.

Here, was Maureen’s final pose.

It had none of the portrait’s elegance. This was tragic. Wrong.

Another life extinguished in this city. Another soul bartered for the damnable price of greed.

Twisting away from the trays, Hanji grabbed the last photo.

The one which mattered most.

Balancing it between her index fingers, Hanji slipped the paper into the water.

Swallowing around the painful lump in her throat, she grabbed up the photo stick, carefully prodding the undeveloped image.

She closed her eyes, picturing the scene - again. The office doors swinging open. Blood on the floor, red soaking into the butler’s clothes. Four men by the door. Fritz at the center. Four faces turned to look at her. The bright light of day behind them.

Cold gray eyes fastened upon her.

Leaning over the tray, Hanji shook her head and impatiently probed the picture.

Slowly, vague gray shapes formed. Nothing definite yet.

Less than twelve hours ago, Maureen Thomas had been alive. Until Hanji and Isabel had showed up on her doorstep.

Hanji had been going over it again and again in her head. There was only one conclusion to be drawn: in seeking out Maureen Thomas, Hanji had marked her for death.

With the election looming so near, Fritz couldn’t risk Maureen speaking. It would have been too great a scandal. And so he’d cut his losses and ended her there.  

Hanji had sought to get a step ahead of Fritz - and Maureen’s life was the price of that endeavor.

If the picture came out - if they ended this day with concrete evidence against Fritz, then at least,  _at least_ , it wouldn’t be for nothing-

Dark shapes took form in the water.

_The picture had to come out. It had to work - it -_

\- looked like...nothing. Four dark figures were only vaguely distinguishable. The bright light behind cast all in impenetrable shadow.

Like a rubber band stretched to breaking, something in her snapped.

Shoving out, she struck the tray. It clattered, sailing off the table. The useless photograph smacked the ground as liquid cascaded over the floor. The acrid smell of chemicals was overwhelming.

_Maureen was dead._

_Fritz walked free._

Hanji sucked heaving breaths, savoring the acrid burn that wracked her throat. Like she was burning from the inside out.

In the dark corners of the room, cold gray eyes seemed to watch her.

_He’d seen her face._

If she was lucky, she had a few days before he found her.

A few days, then, was all the time she’d get to destroy the monster.  _For good._

Clinging to the table, she sank down. Her knees bumped numbly against the floor. Pressing a trembling hand against her head, Hanji heaved another breath, and another. The red glow of the lamp reflected in her glasses, and when she blinked, it flickered like fire.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: body horror, blood
> 
> Night terrors, hurt/comfort, and stress cuddling, oh my

Hanji was hunched, scribbling red-inked edits over an article, when she felt it.

It was a prickling sense of unease. An abiding, uncompromising feeling of wrongness. One by one, the hairs on her arms stood on end.

She’d settled down to work, the office empty and silent around her.

Now, even as silence pressed around her, thick and heavy as water, she realized with an absolute, terrible certainty:

She wasn’t alone.

A throat cleared.

Hanji jerked in her seat. Papers flew as she twisted, turning and-

There was a couch. In her office.

_Had that always been there?_

As papers fluttered to the floor, Hanji frowned, reasonably certain the particular piece of furniture hadn’t been there moments before.

She blinked and the couch was no longer empty.

Atop velvet cushions, Maureen Thomas reclined.

“Hanji, darling,” Maureen said,“I need your honest opinion.” Pouting rose red lips, she stretched languorously, and propped her head against a manicured hand.

“You’re dead,” Hanji said, speaking the first coherent thought her mind could manage.

“Do avoid being crass, dear.”

“Right,” Hanji said, and blinked, trying and failing to make sense of the sight.

“What I wanted to ask  _was_ ,” Maureen continued, “Does this pesky hole make me look just  _foul_?” As she spoke, Maureen gestured, drawing Hanji’s gaze to the dime-sized hole in her forehead.

A stream of blood trickled out of the orifice.

Hanji’s stomach rolled over, and she gripped the desk behind her for support as she gaped, unable to tear her eyes from the wound.

“Just tell me,” Maureen said, closing her eyes as if to steel herself.

“It’s,” Hanji managed, voice high, “distracting.”

“I suppose that’s not the worst it could be,” Maureen said, and sighed. “I look passably pretty then.” As Maureen spoke, a second stream of blood trickled from the hole. The lines of red, which parted on either side of her nose, flowed in dark rivulets over her lips and down her neck.

“At least it only  _looks_  bad” Maureen said, her voice a whisper, “ _I’m_ not truly broken inside.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh darling,” Maureen said, “You didn’t know?”

“Know?”

Maureen’s head tipped back. She chuckled, green eyes going wide, rolling to the side. “A broken thing - trying so hard to fix the world. But you can’t even fix yourself, can you?” Maureen said, and nodded, glancing pointedly down. “Look.”

Following her gaze, Hanji glanced down at her own chest.

Her torso was gone. In its place, a mass of gears shuddered and churned.

Hanji surged back. She struck the desk, and it shook, papers and pens showering the floor. She stared, terrified, at the machinery, horror and revulsion burning in her throat. She realized belatedly, she was trying to scream. but her throat wouldn’t work. Her mouth wouldn’t move.

Her mangled torso ticked and clicked, ridged gears turning and locking. They shuddered, catching and halting. Hissing angrily, the jammed mechanics vibrated deep in her core.

“He broke you, Hanji Zoe.”

Cold, bloody hands grabbed her face, dragging her chin forcefully up.

Hanji struggled, something in her chest was  _tick tick ticking_ , like the great clock in the mansion.

_Tick._

Maureen’s green eyes were rimmed in red. “Broken girl. Broken woman.”

_Tick._

Cruel red lips twisted. “Oh Hanji, whatever happened to your parents?”

_Tick._

“What happened to  _you_?”

_Tick._

Behind her, glass crashed. A shout.

Shoving Maureen back, Hanji threw up her hands, shielding her head.

Her choked throat finally opened. She screamed.

“Hanji.”

Hanji jerked, and her chest seized - _it was dark_. She had to get out. Had to get to them.

She surged up - and was dragged back. Something - no -  _someone_  held her.

She twisted, furious panic overwhelming her senses, driving her to kick, to scream.

“ _Hanji_.”

Struggling, she swung her arm. Something crashed.

“Hanji,  _fucking - shit_ , stop!”

The voice was low, gritty with sleep.

She recognized it.

The world righted with a  _snap_.

She was in bed. Her cotton sheets were twisted, tangled about her feet. Strong arms wrapped around her, restraining, squeezing her against a firm chest.

Levi.

At the realization, something deep inside of her - a cable stretched taught, nearly to the point of breaking - loosened. She could breathe. Twisting roughly, almost violently, toward him, Hanji clutched at his restraining arm. Her body shook - she couldn’t seem to control the jerking trembles. In his arms, she heaved long, gasping breaths.

She felt him shift, body tensing, hesitating.

She closed her eyes and saw Maureen - her cruel smile, the wound weeping red, a chest full of broken, brittle gears. Gasping, Hanji roughly swallowed back a sob.

At the choked noise, something in him seemed to break. Levi jerked into motion. She slid over soft, cool sheets as strong arms dragged her closer.

Curled in her bed, surrounded by strewn, messy sheets, she let him hold her.

As she closed her eyes, straining to shove the dream’s disturbing images from her head, a brush of warm breath tickled her forehead. “You’re getting snot on me.” Bumping his chin against her hair, he sighed, and murmured, voice going soft and low, “You’re safe.”

She shuddered, the unexpectedly gentle words making her raw emotions churn anew. She swallowed back another sob.

He said it again.

She wasn’t - safe. Hadn’t been. Not for a long time.

But it felt good to hear him say it. Even if it was the worst kind of lie.

Opening her eyes, Hanji looked around the room, letting it ground her.

She looked from her bed, to the dresser in the corner, unfolded clothes bursting from its drawers. The table beside the bed was empty. Her lamp had been knocked to the floor. The curtains at the window were drawn back. The sky was painted with deep purple, pre-dawn light.

Heaving a last shuddering breath, Hanji loosed her hold on Levi. In reaction, the arms around her loosened. He shifted back. As she moved, slipping out of his arms, he glanced away. Turned as he was, in the darkness, it was impossible to read his expression.

Sitting up, Hanji twisted away, letting her legs dangle off the bed. After the bed’s - Levi’s warmth, the floor was cold. Nearly unbearably so. Running a hand over her face, she blew a heavy breath and said, “Nightmare,” voice hoarse.

“No shit.”

Hanji closed her eyes, absently rubbing at the sweat clinging to her collarbone and neck. Night terrors, for Hanji, weren’t an unusual occurrence. What was unusual, however, was having a witness.

Last night, after the darkroom, Hanji had been lost in thought, going through the motions of getting ready for bed, when Levi knocked on her door.

Pale, with dark bags under his eyes and maroon bruises at his cheek and upper jaw, he looked as shitty as she felt.

And when he kissed her, for a moment, she forgot about Maureen, about Fritz.

When he took her to bed, she forgot about the world.

Usually, Levi left afterwards. Occasionally he stayed until she fell asleep.

He was always gone by morning.

Bending, Hanji retrieved her glasses from the floor.

“You slept over,” Hanji said, seeking some sense of normalcy after the dream - and waking to find Levi Ackerman had slept the night in her bed. She slipped the cold metal frames over her ears and the world shifted into focus.

Levi rolled his shoulders and sat up. Scratching roughly at the back of his head, he admitted, “I fell asleep.”

“ _No_ ,” Hanji twisted, gaping in mock amazement, “You  _sleep_? Like an actual human?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Levi said, and a warm, solid hand pressed at her back, as if to push her from the bed.

Hanji grappled with his hand, wrestling it back against the mattress.

As she did, his hand turned. Their fingers interlocked and he stopped fighting, letting her press his hand limply against the bed.

Hanji glanced down at their interlocked fingers, instinctively shying away from that warm, safe feeling threatening to grow, blooming wild, dangerous, in her chest.

It was a lie. Nothing was safe. Not in Sina.

Not yet.

Even so, when Levi turned and sat up, wordlessly extricating his fingers, the feeling stubbornly persisted. And it pressed her to say, against her better judgment, “It’s okay - if you sleep here. Every once in a while. If you need to. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I know you do actually need to sleep. Sometimes,” she finished with a smile.

Levi, halfway out of bed, stilled.

Suddenly irrationally afraid of his answer, Hanji rose, pulling a discarded sweater over her head. “I’m not expecting you to, of course,” Hanji amended, already regretting that she’d spoken at all. “Just an option if you need it.”

Levi staying over one night wasn’t a significant aberration from their normal routine. But now that she’d spoken, Hanji couldn’t help but feel that an intangible something in their fragile, careful dance could very easily shift should he do something so simple as make it a habit to stay the night after sleeping with her.

And that scared her. More than she liked to admit.

She changed the subject.

“Maureen Thomas is dead.”

The room went heavy with the silence that followed.

“What,” Levi said, flat.

“When Isabel and I visited her mansion, we found her in her study. She’d been shot,” Hanji said, reciting the half-truth upon which she and Isabel had decided.

“Tell me everything.”

Perching on the bed, she gave him the abridged version. Fritz went unmentioned.

When she finished, Levi leaned against the wall. His shirt, which he’d been in the process of putting on, hung open, buttons forgotten. He stared at her, eyes dark. His shoulders were drawn back in a tight, tense line.

“I’m looking for another lead. Something to, at the very least, inconvenience Fritz. Something big enough to satisfy Kenny,” Hanji added, when he still hadn’t spoken.

At Kenny’s name, Levi closed his eyes. Rubbing a hand over his head, he pressed his lips together. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Finally, he asked, “You think you’ll be able to find something. This late?” His voice was heavy. He spoke slow.

“I have some ideas.”

“Word’s gonna get out about Maureen. Kenny will hear about it today,” Levi mused, thinking aloud.

“Kenny will give me some time to try to find new dirt on Fritz. I’m still useful. Not a liability. Not yet,” Hanji said, addressing the concern she imagined Levi was likely thinking.

Levi’s hard gaze flicked up, scouring her for -  _something_. His low voice was brittle when he spoke. “For now. You’re still useful,  _for now_ ,” he emphasized.

“For now,” she conceded, and added, ‘I’ll figure something else out. After.”

Her frowned, clearly dissatisfied with her answer - then tensed, as if a new thought had occurred to him. “When you and Isabel got to the mansion. The body - did it looked like it had been there long?”

Hanji stalled, momentarily stuck in her lie as she strained to read him, to discern what new thought had worried him.

“It’s hard to say,” Hanji started, slow. “The mansion was quiet. Free of disturbance when we arrived. But the body was relatively fresh, I think. It happened within the day, best I could tell.”

Levi was around the bed in a moment. Gripping her shoulders, he gave her a light shake. “Hanji, did anyone see you and Isabel enter or leave that mansion?”

Still seated on the bed, Hanji was in the odd position of looking up at him. Reaching up, she squeezed his hands, then lifted, breaking his grip on her shoulders. “It’s impossible to say for sure. I was keeping an eye out, and I didn’t notice anyone watching us,” she said -  _lied._

Whether she lied to protect Levi or herself, Hanji wasn’t sure.

Levi couldn’t afford to become embroiled in a direct conflict with Fritz. As an Ackerman, he had enemies, sure. But Fritz, more concerned with Kenny, had yet to set his sights on Levi directly. That would change, should he venture down this path with her.

And Hanji couldn’t help but wonder, if Levi knew the true extent of the situation with Fritz, would he insist she go into hiding? Or perhaps his allegiance to his uncle ran deeper than she knew. If Levi knew Fritz was after her, perhaps he would feel obligated to tell Kenny.

She couldn’t allow for either. 

Hanji knew the truth, felt it deep inside; an ancient certitude, it hid, tucked between her ribs, burrowed deep in her marrow. She had to see this through. No matter the cost. No matter the consequence. Continuing may very well kill her, but to stop now would destroy her. She’d built her life around the destruction of one man. If not used to destroy Fritz, she was sure the conflagration building within her would burn her from the inside out. And she was afraid to find who - or what - would be left over.

“I didn’t see anyone,” Hanji said again, as if that would convince him.

“If Fritz did it - and we fucking know he did - he did it because he didn’t trust Maureen to keep quiet. The mansion could have been under surveillance, Hanji,” Levi’s voice was cold and sharp as a knife’s edge, masking a thinly veiled note of alarm.

“If he did, nothing can be done about it now,” she maintained, and then said, quieter, holding his gaze, “Kenny doesn’t have to know. Not yet.”

Levi was getting closer to the truth than she’d like - the truth that might very well have Kenny deciding she was no longer worth the risk of keeping around - Fritz and his men had seen her face. They could identify her - were probably, at this very moment, searching for her, believing her to be in possession of a photo containing damning evidence against them.

At her second, quiet remark, Levi’s hands fell, dangling at his sides. Facing her, shoulders drooping, and with shadows like bruises darkening the skin beneath his eyes, for a moment, he looked truly, deeply tired.

Hanji reached toward him, wanting to help, without the slightest idea of how to go about doing so - but the look was gone in a second, concealed beneath tense shoulders and a harsh frown. Shaking his head, he rubbed his hand over his face and chuckled. It was a rough, ugly sound.

“Kenny. Fritz,” he muttered, and said, “You gonna add any more names to your list of enemies anytime soon?”

“Kenny’s not my enemy.”

“He will be,” Levi said, hard.

She watched him, silent.

Shaking his head, he laughed, a short, bitter sound, and swore.

“...you have a plan, I take it?” Levi said, finally breaking the hard silence that had grown between them.

“Please,” she replied, “I always have a plan.”

“You’re taking someone with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Don’t tell me anything else. Not yet. I’m gonna have to pretend to be in the dark when Kenny hears about Maureen and shit inevitably starts hitting the fan.”

Hanji relaxed. Levi was on her side then - at least for now. Whatever they were to each other, she did consider him a friend, and it was a warm, encompassing relief to know he wasn’t going to rat her out to his uncle.

“Levi-”

“He’s not going to be happy, Hanji,” Levi said, cutting her off. “I’ll talk to him, but get yourself involved in any more shit, and I’m not gonna be able to protect you - from Kenny - or any of the others.”

That stopped her short. It was one thing for Levi to conceal the truth from Kenny, but he made it sound as though he was actually protecting her. _Which wasn’t - Why would he-?_

Hanji’s mind ticked back, over the risks she took, the enemies she’d made in publishing her articles. She’d always assumed the Ackerman gang had been running interference - helping to make sure incensed politicians and moguls didn’t wipe her from the face of the earth. But if Kenny truly saw her as disposable, then he wouldn’t waste valuable resources on her.

Hanji stared up at Levi, realization dawning, in time with the orange light that flickered into existence on the horizon.

Had Levi been getting rod of her enemies? Could he have been protecting her, all this time?

As if he’d read some hint of her thoughts in her expression, Levi took one swift step back. Buttoning his shirt, he turned and began slipping into the rest of his clothes.

“I have to go,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.

Hanji watched him, evaluating his posture, how he moved, and took his measure.

“I’ll find something on Fritz. Before the election.” _Before Fritz found her._

“You’re running out of time,” he said, tugging on his shoes.

He was certainly right about that.

With Fritz after her, she had even less time than he was aware of.

“I’ll make the most of it.”

He paused, then straightened. “I’ve got to take care of some things. Then I’ll talk to Kenny. See what he knows.”

Grateful, she nodded, and managed a smile. “Levi. Thank you. Really.” She stood. Still only wearing a sweater, she didn’t bother with pants. The floor was cold against the soles of her feet, and the early morning chill raised goosebumps along her legs.

As she moved toward him, she noticed he shifted automatically back, slightly angling himself toward her approach. But when she was near enough to touch, he looked up, his warm gray eyes met hers, and his tense lines relaxed.

She reached for his buttons, fixing one he’d missed in his rush. He was warm, and Hanji pressed her hands against his chest, enjoying the feeling.

His hand pressed over hers. And released.

She watched him go, feeling the morning chill more acutely in his absence.

At the door, he turned. “Watch your back out there,” he said, and glanced away. “I’ll visit tonight. Let you know what I hear from Kenny.”

After he left, Hanji returned to bed. Falling back, she pressed her face against a pillow - the one he liked to use - and breathed. Traces of smoke, lemon, and pine had seeped into the fabric. Closing her eyes, she let the last clinging remnants of the nightmare fade. When the memories were nothing more than the barest shadow of thought, Hanji allowed herself another minute to lay there, thinking of nothing, sheets around her.

* * *

 

Levi climbed, boots scraping against worn wood. The narrow stairwell pressed in on both sides, and Levi rose, trailing a hand along yellow, peeling wallpaper. His fingertips brushed the rough walls, unfeeling. Heavy, distracting thoughts weighed on his mind.

Kenny, Fritz, Hanji - all problems, in some way or form. All, for their own reasons, as dangerous as open flame.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he drew a deep breath - and released it. Taking a key from an inner pocket, Levi stepped up to a door at the end of the hall. Twisting the key in the lock - a familiar motion - he entered.

Here, the wallpaper was intact. Lines of pastel flowers climbed pale yellow walls. The apartment was small, but brightly lit. A kitchen window was open, and light curtains fluttered in the breeze.

At the door, Levi slipped out of his shoes. The carpet, though dark with age, was soft.

Photographs lined the hallway. Colorful but wilting daisies decorated an end table in the hall. With a pang of regret, Levi realized he’d forgotten to bring fresh ones. If he had time after meeting with Kenny, he’d bring fresh flowers this afternoon.

In the living room, a record player spun, singing a crisp melody, filling the otherwise quiet space. Here, the windows were open too. Before one, a sturdy rocking chair sat. It’s dark runners left thick imprints in the carpet. Perched in the chair, wrapped in a large, white quilt, a woman sat.

Her hair, dark and lined with silver, cascaded over narrow shoulders. Gray eyes, wide open, were fixed on some distant, invisible sight beyond the open window.

Against blue sky, there was a flicker of color. A butterfly, wings fluttering, flitted at the edge of the window, buffeted by the wind.

Gray eyes blinked and her lips turned up in a slow, dreamy smile.

Leaning against the wall, Levi cleared his throat and spoke, softly as he was able.

“I’m back, Mom.”


	7. Chapter 7

“You okay?” Moblit asked, eyeing her as she climbed from the cab.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Hanji said, and took a moment to scan the surrounding lunch-hour crowd.

Moblit watched her, brows raised. “Well - you seem a bit….distracted,” he said, pointedly, as she turned another look over her shoulder.

Waving a dismissive hand, she pulled Moblit along, shouldering her way through the crowd.

They were going to be late.

“You can talk to me, Hanji,” Moblit said, his voice low, quiet.

Hanji took one look at his face, and sighed. His concern was sweet, really. Annoying, as they were late, but sweet all the same. Slowing, she matched pace with him and bumped shoulders.

“I may be in some danger,” she admitted with a shrug.

“Some?” Moblit asked. His eyebrow had begun to twitch - a sure sign of mounting anxiety.

“Some.”

Hanji, looking up at him, watched the afternoon sun play through his sandy blond hair. His lips were turned down, and he stared speculatively ahead, deep furrows lining the space between his brows.

“What can I do?”

Hanji, a sudden surge of affection swelling in her chest, squeezed his arm and said, “I think maybe - after today - you should go, Moblit.”

“Go where?” He halted, frowning.

She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. Somewhere out of Sina. Maybe a few towns away.”

“That bad, huh?” Moblit asked, his warm hazel eyes watching her, searching.

Folding her arms, she glanced away and admitted, voice pitched low, “Bad enough. Really Moblit, you’d be better off leaving now. The sooner the better.”

For a long moment, he held her gaze.

Then, he smiled. “Well what do we need to do then?”

“Moblit-”

“ _Come on_ ,” he said, bracing his hands on her shoulders, “I’m not leaving. Not now. Not tomorrow. What kind of friend would I be if I abandoned you now?”

When she looked up, he met her gaze, eyes wide, expression earnest. And Hanji wondered, not for the first time, what she possibly could have done to deserve a friend like Moblit.

Blowing a breath, she relaxed and swore. She smiled up at him, resigned. “Sometimes I think your self-preservation instincts leave something to be desired, Moblit.”

He sputtered, aghast. “ _You’re_  saying that to  _me_?”

Laughing, she hooked her arm through his, and dragged her protesting assistant through the crowd.

At the cafe, Hanji spied Nanaba and Mike immediately. Even seated, Mike stood out. His bulky figure was bent, tucked awkwardly into the cafe’s wicker seats. His blond head poked out, well above the rest of the crowd.

When she saw Hanji and Moblit, Nanaba jumped up. Smiling she grabbed Hanji, dragging her into a tight, warm hug.

“I’m so glad you invited us out. It’s been too long since we’ve gotten together like this - away from work,” Nanaba said, finally releasing her.

Nanaba’s friendly, well-meaning words hit Hanji like small, painful barbs of guilt.

She was happy to see them, of course. But this was anything but a social call. She was running out of time, and needed to know if Nanaba and Mike had gotten wind of any illegal weapons deals on their side of the law.

By the time she and Moblit were settled, Mike had flagged down the waiter, and two extra mugs of coffee were delivered to the table.

Without waiting for it to cool, Hanji took a long drink of the bitter liquid. She winced, and gave the waiter an appreciative nod.

“We actually have a dual purpose for being here today,” Moblit said, clearing his throat.

Hanji closed her eyes, thanking the gods, the universe,  _or_   _whatever happened to be listening_ , for the gift of Moblit Berner, who had predictably guessed at her feelings, and was broaching the awkward subject on her behalf.

“To catch up with old friends and,” he paused, “because Hanji and I - we need your help.”

Mike and Nanaba shared a glance.

Nanaba spoke first. “Of course we’ll help, Any way that we can,” she said, looking to Moblit - then Hanji, “What’s going on?”

“I’ve heard word of duplicitous dealings by upper command in the Sina police,” Hanji said, and took a sip of her drink. Her glasses fogged as she watched Nanaba and Mike over the rim of the mug.

Nanaba straightened. Beside her, Mike crossed his arms, swearing softly under his breath.

“What kind of dealings?” Mike asked.

“Illegal sale of firearms. To gangs.”

Nanaba and Mike shared another long glance.

“You’re saying one of our own is selling gangs guns - the guns they then use to murder cops?” Nanaba hissed, voice tight.

“Murder?” Hanji echoed, surprised - not by Nanaba’s anger, but by its heat.

“There was an altercation. Late last night,” Mike said, answering for her. He rubbed a weary hand over his face and added, “Two of our boys died. Seems like they interrupted some kind of turf scuffle between the Ackermans and Lower East Siders. It looks like the Ackermans took the East Siders out - then our men too.”

Hanji stared, pinpricks of anxiety creeping up her spine. It had been late when Levi arrived at her apartment. She pictured the fresh bruises on his face. The sharp smell of smoke - and something else, acrid and unidentifiable - had clung to his clothes.

_Well shit._

“God, that’s awful,” Hanji finally managed.

Nanaba’s eyes glistened. She blinked and forcibly cleared her throat.

“We knew them both. Pretty well. They were good people,” Mike said, and took a bitter sip of his drink.

Hanji forced her clenched fingers to relax around her mug.

Moblit, watching her, frowned.

“Good news is, it finally gave Erwin the excuse he needed,” Nanaba said, “We’ve had small teams following the Ackermans. Keeping tabs on them, mapping their secret offices and meeting places. Erwin’s sending raid teams to a couple of the hideouts. He’s bringing Kenny, Levi, and Mikasa in, dead or alive.”

_Dead or alive._

Hanji blinked. Her throat had gone dry.

Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Levi or Mikasa surrendering willingly. Kenny sure as hell wouldn’t.

Using every ounce of restraint she possessed, Hanji leaned casually back in her chair. “Sounds like a massive operation. How long until it’s underway?”

“Today,” Nanaba answered, looking smug. “In a few hours, the bastards will finally face justice.”

Hanji lifted the mug and took a rough sip. Coughing, she smiled, too bright. “ _Wonderful._ ”

“It’s why we can’t stay long,” Mike added, shifting in his seat. “We’re assigned to one of the raids.”

“Oh Mike,” Hanji murmured, heart aching, a hopeless, sinking feeling in her chest. If Erwin’s raids went to plan, Nanaba and Mike could very well be in a life and death battle with Levi, Mikasa, and Kenny in a few hours time.

She might be sick.

“The Ackerman’s won’t go down without a fight,” she said, looking between them, horrified. “Whatever the end of this may be, blood  _will_ be shed.”

Mike shrugged. “We’ve had bloody fights before. Besides, it’s not like we have much of a choice. Fritz has been pushing Erwin to deal with the Ackermans. With the blatant murder of two cops, Erwin’s gotta make a move - or risk looking weak.”

“We’ll be fine, Hanji,” Nanaba said, reaching over the table. Her hand settled over the back of Hanji’s, and she gave her fingers a warm squeeze.

“You better be,” she answered, distant. Her mind was racing away from their conversation, circling around the problem at hand. She had to find the Ackermans. Get a warning to them before it was too late.

“But about those gun sales. We’ve got a little time left. Hanji, tell us what you’ve heard,” Mike said.

Her head snapped up. “The what?”

Mike frowned. “The...gun sales? What you came here to talk to us about?”

“Right. That,” She said, wrenching her scattered thoughts back into order. “I can’t say much, Mike. Gotta protect my source, and all that.”

Mike, sighing deeply, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “Hanji…”

“What I  _can_  tell you, is it’s apparently a high ranking officer.”

Mike hummed. Beside him, Nanaba pursed her lips.

“It would have to be,” Nanaba finally said, “in order to smoothly move weapons of that caliber without raising any red flags.”

“We’re talking really high ranking,” Mike mused, and narrowed his eyes. “Who,  _exactly_ , are you planning on accusing?”

“Not Erwin,” Nanaba gasped, leaning forward in her chair.

Hanji shook her head, and jabbed a finger up.

“Nile?” Nanaba asked.

Hanji pointed up.

“ _Zackly?_ ” Mike hissed.

Hanji waved him quiet. Beside her, Moblit pressed a fist over his mouth. Pale, he looked between Hanji and Mike, eyes wide.

“It’s only what I’ve heard - from a reliable source, granted. But I do need to verify it.”

Nanaba, nearly as pale as Moblit, breathed, “Hanji. That is a dangerous accusation.”

More dangerous still, was accusing Zackly of specifically colluding with Mayor Fritz to supply weapons to the Lower East side gang - who the mayor had a secret alliance with.

_God, what a mess._

“I need to know if you’ve observed anything unusual at the station. Heard anyone say anything. Noticed Zackly leaving for any unscheduled meetings,” Hanji pressed them.

They shook their heads.

“We don’t work with Zackly much. But,” Mike held up a hand before Hanji could speak. “We’ll start keeping an eye out. And we can bring it up with Erwin. He’ll be better equipped to investigate.”

Hanji bit her lip, thinking. She didn’t have time to wait for Erwin to formally investigate. She probably had days left before Fritz located her.

“We  _will_  look into this, Hanji,” Nanaba said, holding her gaze. “But please, promise me you’ll leave it to us. It’s not safe for you to be looking into Zackly. If he is doing what you say, then he would have no qualms about hurting a civilian to keep his secret.”

Hanji agreed, not hating herself nearly as much as she probably should have for lying to her friends.

By the time they parted, sharing tight hugs, Hanji was nearly bouncing with pent up energy. She’d learned nothing helpful about Zackly, but she’d have to worry about that later. For now, she had a much more pressing concern.

As soon as Mike and Nanaba were in a cab, Hanji spun on Moblit. 

“Take Armin to the library. Check to see if the city keeps record of annual gun related violence. It may give us some direction.”

Moblit, still pale, watched her, lips set in a hard, flat line. “You conveniently forgot to mention that it’s Zackly you’re trying to out as a corrupt officer.”

“ _Who_  it is changes nothing. Whether it’s Zackly, a rookie, or the receptionist at the front desk - the corrupt deserve to answer for their crimes.”

“I  _know_  what we do has its dangers, but this is-”

“I'm aware, Moblit!” Hanji cut in, temper flaring. “Which is precisely why I told you to leave town.”

His mouth snapped closed.

“Maybe  _you_  should leave,” was his eventual answer.

“You know I can’t,” Hanji said, closing her eyes as the anger bled out of her.

Somewhere behind them, a car horn blared. 

Moblit sighed.

“Then I stay too.”

“But-”

“I’m staying.”

Cracking an eye open, Hanji gave him a small, tired smile. He was hopeless - but, he was her closest friend, and she never would have gotten this far without him. 

“Be safe. Take Armin with you. He can help with the research too.”

Moblit nodded.

“I’ve got to go - otherwise I would help,” Hanji said, stepping back as her thoughts jumped into motion, calculating the time it would take to track down the Ackermans. How long it would take to convince them to flee.

Moblit, hands in his pockets, watched her go.

She hadn’t made it far when he called out.

“I know where you’re going, Hanji.”

Her steps slowed.

“I know who you’re going to warn.”

She stopped.

“I couldn’t -  _wouldn’t_  - ever judge you,” he said softly.

There was an odd pitch to his voice, a strange, mournful twist to his words. It was subtle. If she didn’t know him - if they hadn’t been friends all these years, she might have missed it. But she did know him, and the hurt in his voice was unmistakable.

“He’s...not safe. Hanji, please just…” The sentence hung - brittle, breakable, and he sighed. “Be careful.”

Hanji didn’t turn. She couldn’t - afraid of what she’d see if she looked at her friend’s face. She ought to have known better than to underestimate his intuition - his skills of observation. As well as she knew him - he knew her too.

Unwilling to meet his gaze, Hanji dipped her head. The heavy strain of secrets weighted the air between them. She hesitated a moment, waiting to see if he had anything else to say.

The silence lingered. She was out of time.

“See you later, Moblit.”

He didn’t answer. Forcibly ignoring the sad, sinking feeling pressing against her chest, she left him on the sidewalk, alone.

Thoughts of Levi and Mikasa - Nanaba and Mike, churned, stirring old fears deep within her. If the raid wasn’t stopped - if the Ackerman’s weren’t warned, her closest friends would likely kill each other before the day was done.

Thinking of all she knew about the Ackerman’s - of Levi, Hanji charted a path, developed a tentative plan.

As she set out through the city, she was acutely aware of the time, and imagined a great clock, counting down the hours, minutes, seconds, it’s heavy hands  _tick-tick-ticking_  inevitably within her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will this story ever slow down? Will Hanji ever catch a break?? 
> 
> Probably not.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All. The. Drama.
> 
> I can't get enough of it, folks.

The eggs in the skillet popped. Reaching over them, Levi buttered toast. In the living room, Kuchel Ackerman rocked, staring idly out the window. Fragments of a hummed, lilting melody reached him in the kitchen.

She was in a good mood, then. A small relief. On her worst days, she had waking terrors and was victim to fits. On days like today, she was quiet, content - reasonably self sufficient.

Levi suspected the next few days might afford him little opportunity to visit. Amidst Sina’s building chaos, it was a small comfort to know his mother would likely have a smooth few days in his absence.

Sliding the eggs onto a plate, he carefully arranged the toast and grabbed a fork, laying the meal out on a tray. The tea was last, poured with care into her favorite porcelain teacup.

The humming paused when he entered the room. His mother’s attention shifted, a slow and measured process.

First, she tilted her head, listening to his padding footsteps on the carpet. And then a slight movement - her hand slipped from her lap to the chair arm. She took a breath, and her eyes were last, reluctantly abandoning the sunny view in favor of the room.

When her gaze fell on him, however, her countenance noticeably brightened. Her smile was small and hesitating, as if her lips had half forgotten the motion. But what her lips had forgotten, her eyes remembered. They squinted, and for a brief moment, unfiltered joy showed in her expression.

Setting the tray on an end table, he laid out the meal before her. As he adjusted the teacup, moving it within easy reach, cool fingers brushed his arm.

“So good to your mother,” she said, voice quiet and melodic. Her lips twitched up, managing a better smile.

“Just eggs and toast,” he said, apologetic. “Didn’t have time for much else.”

She shook her head, already nibbling on the toast, and repeated, like an echo, “Good to your mother.”

Grabbing a chair and his lukewarm tea from the kitchen, Levi settled down beside her. He didn’t particularly enjoy talking, but his mother liked to listen, and it wasn’t like she was able to have many visitors. So as his mother ate, Levi talked, regaling her with stories about Farlan and Isabel and Mikasa. He never intended to talk about Hanji, but often mentioned her, nonetheless. 

And as he spoke, Kuchel listened. Though she alternated between watching him and staring out the window, he never doubted that she listened carefully to his every word.

Today, he stayed for as long as he could, but by the time she finished eating, he was already running late for his meeting with Kenny. Still, he took the time to clean up, washing and putting away each of her dishes with care.

As he straightened up the living room and checked to ensure she was settled, she reached for him.

He stilled as two gentle hands cupped his face. “My good boy,” she said, a whisper. “Thank you Levi.” Gaze distant, she looked from his face, to the window, and then back to him again. “You take care of me. I know, it should be the other way around. So much time. All spent on me,” she said, something in her voice catching. She closed her eyes.

“ _Don’t._ ” He reached for her hands. “I want to be here,” he said, and squeezed her cool fingers.

Lips quivering, his mother managed a small smile. “So good,” she repeated, and opened her eyes, her dark gaze, for the first time in years, uncommonly sharp. “You deserve to be safe. Happy.”

When she looked away, her gaze was distant again. Sighing, she looked to the window and repeated, “My good boy.”

Squeezing her hands, Levi placed them gently in her lap, forcibly ignoring the hollow feeling her words left in his stomach. Trying to hold on to happiness was like grasping a fistful of sand. The harder you clung to it, the faster it slipped through your fingers. Sometimes it was better not to hope.

His mother had learned the hard way how easily happiness could be wrenched from you.

Levi hadn’t really known his father. The man had been recruited by Kenny and was firmly entrenched in the mob’s business. Thinking back on it, Levi could remember very little about his father, save that his mother had loved him very much.

Whenever his father was due back, his mother would skip around the house, opening windows, half-humming and half-singing jaunty tunes as she tidied their already neat home.

When Levi was eleven, his father didn’t come home.

Apparently, he’d been negotiating an arms deal with an out of town gang. It went bad.

Whether it was financially motivated - or a targeted attack against the Ackermans, Levi didn’t know, and Kenny had never said. After they murdered his father at the wharf, the gangsters found his home.

Levi woke to his mother’s screams.

Stumbling from bed, he found his mother on the floor of her room. Crumpled, she lay motionless, her nightgown drenched in blood. He’d screamed - probably. In retrospect, the entire night was one long, dark blur with flashes of clear, crisp memory mixed within.

One of the men struck him, and Levi had stumbled back and fallen, mouth tasting of blood. Head spinning, he’d rolled, struggling to rise - and that was when Kenny arrived.

He’d taken one look at Kuchel - and Levi saw it in his face. First, the horror. Then, shuttered rage. His uncle, who’d seen enough violence to last five lifetimes, believed his sister dead. Like a demon born of rage, he stepped over Kuchel’s lifeless form, drawing a gun and a dagger from his vest. In the dim, flickering light, he rent flesh from bone.

In the chaos, a lamp was overturned. And as the room filled with smoke and flames licked up the walls, Kenny had looked from his sister’s corpse to the three enemies escaping, for a second, conflicted.

He gave chase.

Levi, tucked in the corner, partially hidden by the bed, had gone unnoticed.

As flames crawled over the ceiling, he rose on shaking legs. With smoke burning his eyes, he stumbled, reaching blindly for his mother. He found her as glowing flakes of drywall curled and peeled away from the ceiling, fluttering down like rain.

Yanking beneath her arms, he heaved. Coughing and tripping, he dragged her from the room. Halfway down the stairs, he felt her shift, and where her bloodied head fell against his small arm, the barest of breaths tickled his skin. _Alive._

He’d found one of his father’s relatives - one who didn’t associate with the gang. They were dead now - caught up in a bank heist shootout long ago. But that night they’d called a doctor, and for a few years at least, had cared for Kuchel and helped Levi hide her from Kenny.

Levi didn’t doubt Kenny’s love for Kuchel. What he doubted was that it outweighed his love for the gang. For Kenny, the Ackerman mob came first. It always had. No exceptions.

If Kenny knew Kuchel was alive, he’d bring her back, draw her in again. She’d, once more, be at the center of the barely controlled chaos of gang life. Kuchel - who in the days, months,  _hell_ , years after the incident, had cried, barely eaten, and wandered like a ghost, looking at the world, wide eyes not quite  _seeing_.

Even at a young age, Levi had known - his mother wouldn’t survive a return to the Ackerman lifestyle.

So he kept her apart. Away from the violence. From Kenny.

By the time his father’s relative passed, Levi had saved up enough for a small apartment at the edge of the city. He visited every day - or most days. He’d told Mikasa - and then Farlan and Isabel, and they’d stop by when he couldn’t.

Ensuring that the door was locked, Levi reached into his vest, tucking the key well out of sight.

As a child, he’d laid awake at night, wondering what Kenny would do if he ever discovered Levi’s secret - his greatest betrayal. At the time, he couldn’t begin to conceive of the shape his uncle’s rage would take. As an adult, he’d seen enough violence to be able to imagine an approximation, and didn’t particularly like to dwell on the thought.

Outside, a breeze was picking up. Adjusting his blazer, Levi stepped across the street, already considering his newest problem: Kenny’s reaction to the news of Maureen’s death. If Rod Reiss lost the election to Fritz -  _again_  - it would be bad for the city, sure. But Kenny wasn’t worried about the city. Fritz was the Lower East Sider’s man. Another few years under his leadership would be hell for the Ackermans. The liquor raids were bad enough in their parts of the city already. Kenny was desperate for blackmail material that would tip the odds of the election in Rod’s favor.

Levi hailed a cab. Distracted, he failed to notice the pair of eyes watching, patiently observing him - and the quiet, one bedroom apartment at the edge of the city.

* * *

 

Hanji’s knuckles rapped against the door.

When that got no immediate response, she made a fist and pounded the wood.

It was a long shot, really. More likely than not, no one was home. But Levi’s safe house was the only concrete address she had to go on. The Ackermans had been careful to keep any meetings either at her residences or on neutral ground. 

Paranoid bastards.

“ _Come on_ ,” she hissed. Gritting her teeth, she gave the door another good pound.

It swung open and her fist sailed through empty air. She jerked back, narrowly avoiding driving her knuckles into a scowling face.

Farlan Church stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, his other holding a gun, cocked and lifted.

“ _Hanji_?” Farlan swore colorfully as he lowered the gun.

“Farlan. Hi. I was actually looking for Levi.”

“How  _the fuck_ do you know this address?”

“Not important,” she said, waving a hand. “Levi and Mikasa are in danger.”

The shift was in Farlan was instantaneous. He straightened, snapping like a soldier to attention. “What’s going on?”

As quickly as she was able, she told him about the raid - the order to bring the three Ackermans in, dead or alive. That by now, they had an hour - maybe two - until the police were mobilized and on the doorsteps of the Ackerman’s various hideouts.

Farlan  shook his head. “We have officers on our payroll. They should have warned us.”

“I don’t think they had time, Farlan. Erwin only started mobilizing officers this morning. And it sounds like he notified his most trusted officers first.”

“ _Shit_.” And then he was swinging the door closed, joining her on the steps. “Then we gotta go,” he said, and tucked his gun into his jacket.

“Where?”

“Levi’s with Kenny at our dockside location. Mikasa and Isabel are in the southern quarter.”

“Split up?” she asked.

Farlan hesitated. Jerking his head in a rough nod he gave her an address.

As she turned, Farlan’s harsh voice drew her back.

“I know you’re buddy buddy with some cops. If you’re playing some game with us - if you betray Levi’s trust - I’ll kill you myself, Hanji.”

“If I betray Levi, I’m sure he’ll find me well before you do.”

Backing away, Farlan watched her, his expression unreadable. “For his sake, I’d try to get there first.”

“What-”

But Farlan was already turning away. “Don’t betray us Hanji.”

“I wasn’t  _planning_ on it!” she shouted after him, and turned on her heel. “Asshole.”

* * *

 

The cab could only take her so far, and by the time Hanji found the address on the docks, she was red faced and panting. The building itself was rather smallish and unassuming. In front of what appeared to be a boarded door, a man loitered, leaning casually against water stained walls.

Rubbing a sleeve over her damp forehead, Hanji approached the door.

The man peeled away from the wall, striding casually into her path. Lifting a cigarette to his lips, he took a drag, eyeing her up and down. He blew smoke and smiled. “Well now, what’s a nice looking woman like you doin’ way down here?”

“I need to see Levi and Kenny.”

His brows lifted, and he took another drag. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“I’m the Ackerman’s journalist contact. I need to talk with them,” she said, stepping around him.

A hard hand grabbed her shoulder.

“I don’t think so.”

Stiffening, she turned a vicious look over her shoulder. “This place is going to be swarming with cops in under an hour. If you value your life, you’ll let me through.”

“Wha-  _is that a threat?_ ” he growled.

“It’s a fact.” Jerking out of his grasp, she marched for the door.

A cocked gun clicked at her back.  

“Go ahead. It’ll be on you to explain to Levi why you shot the Ackerman’s reporter.”

It was a bluff - mostly. Honestly, she had no idea what Levi would do if she were shot on the Ackerman’s doorstep. Probably nothing quite so dramatic as she was insinuating.

The door guard, however, seemed to at least be considering the potential ramifications of harming her. He hadn’t shot her yet.

“You can escort me if you like,” she said, trying a gentler tone. “But I really do need to see them. You’re all in grave danger.”

He heaved a heavy sigh, and Hanji knew she’d won.

He kept the gun trained at her back as he followed her in. The inner hallway was narrow and dark. Hard, polished wood creaked beneath her shoes. They passed several doors. All closed.

Pushing at her shoulder, the guard maneuvered her towards a staircase on her right. At the top, a second hallway led to a thick, wooden door. The guard knocked once, and a muffled voice beckoned them in.

The room was darker than the hallway before. Smoke curled, glowing dully in the single lamp’s light. Kenny sat behind a desk, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned back in his chair. Levi sat on the other side of the desk, straight backed and alert.

When she entered, Kenny paused, cigarette half lifted to his lips. Lined forehead wrinkling, his brows lifted toward his hairline, and he chuckled. Taking a drag from the cigarette, he said, “I’ll be damned - the prodigal reporter appears.”

Levi turned in his seat - and went absolutely still. He didn’t breathe as his gaze flicked from her, to the man behind her, and the gun at her back.

She blinked at him and nodded, trying to convey that everything was - well, it wasn’t  _alright_  - but that she was here of her own free will.

“She said it was urgent, boss,” the guard explained.

Taking another drag from his cigarette, Kenny waved him away. “I’ll take it from here, Duran.”

Hanji stepped forward as the guard left them, closing the door.

She felt Levi’s gaze, but focused her attention on Kenny, the Ackermans’ infamous leader. She’d heard plenty about him, but had been fortunate enough to avoid meeting him in person - until now.

Considering her precarious position, it would have been better to avoid him for as long as possible. But it couldn’t be helped. Not that she gave a shit about Kenny Ackerman’s safety - but Levi and Mikasa were also targets in this raid. And - well - she happened to give a shit about them. Not to mention Nanaba and Mike.

Sitting behind his desk, Kenny reclined, his lanky figure folded awkwardly into a high backed chair. His dark, shoulder length hair appeared oily at first glance, though it may have been a trick of the light. He wore a hat angled low, like a tilted crown, and when he glanced down, the entire the top of his face was concealed in shadow.

Watching her, he tipped his head back, eyes gleaming. Licking his lips, he watched her like a wolf eyeing its next meal. When he smiled, it was broad, toothy - sharp. He swung his arms open in a broad, sweeping gesture.  

“Welcome Hanji Zoe.”

“Hello Kenny,” she said, steeled herself, and stepped forward.

“ _Hanji._ ”

Levi, now directly to her left, stood. He’d uttered her name, seemingly without realizing it. Hands clenched at his sides, he looked from her to his uncle.

“I heard interesting news about Maureen Thomas. The little shit and I were just discussing it,” Kenny said, sparing his nephew a lingering glance.

At the mention of Maureen, the image of a bloodsoaked couch flickered in her mind’s eye. Biting the inside of her cheek, she forced the nausea back.

“I’m getting other dirt on Fritz, Kenny. Currently, we’ve got a more pressing issue.”

At her side, Levi had yet to move. She could feel him watching her.

“More pressing than the fact that my reporter is failing to report?”

“The police are on their way. They’re coming here. Right now. They’ve been tailing you, and know this location and others. They have orders to take you and Levi dead or alive.”

Uncrossing his legs, Kenny sat up, his gaze sharp. “And you know this how?”

“Friends in the police.”

Kenny’s lips curled up. It was a cruel expression. “Not a very good friend then, are you?”

The question was a bitter, stinging barb - because it was true as it was cruel. She’d betrayed their trust. She could argue it was for the sake of saving lives on both sides of the law, but the facts spoke for themselves. And unlike gangsters or politicians, the facts did not lie.

“We need to leave.” Levi spoke, drawing his uncle’s attention.

Hanji relaxed. Levi believed her, then. And if Levi was on her side -

“Run and we look weak,” Kenny said, sinking back in his chair. “Tell the boys to arm up. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Your people here are going to  _die_ ,” she hissed, stepping forward. “Erwin’s bringing a substantial force to each of your bases of operations.”

“Of course some are gonna die. But the gang will survive it. ‘Sides, we’ll take some coppers out. Erwin knows what it means to attack us so blatantly. No self respecting gang would take that lying down.”

“Erwin is being pressured into this attack. More likely than not, Fritz and the Lower East Siders are trying to weaken you.  _You’ve got to run_.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Levi shift, pushing his chair back.

Kenny blew a breath and chuckled. “You got a lotta nerve, girl. Failing your job, and then coming here to yell at  _me_.” His lips curled up, revealing rows of yellowing teeth. “I could have you killed. Right now.” Kenny’s gaze flicked to her left. “Couldn’t I, Levi? One little command, and  _boom_.”

Hanji’s skin prickled. The air in the room felt heavy. Kenny’s eyes were too bright.

“You’re armed right, Levi?” Kenny asked, then huffed an amused breath, glancing back at Hanji, “Who am I kidding, the kiddo’s always armed.” His sharp gaze was back on Levi when he said, “If I gave the order, how fast could you have a bullet in her head?”

At his words, ice seeped through her skin. Instinctively, she looked to Levi. She couldn’t hope to have him as an ally - not here.

Levi stood, still and silent. With one foot set slightly back, he looked ready to jump forward or back. Oriented as they were, Levi made the third point in the triangle they’d formed around the desk.

When Levi didn’t move, Kenny glanced up. “Aw come on, kid. You gonna make me do my own executions now? The whole point of being boss man is having henchman to kill for you when you don’t wanna get out a gun.”

But Levi wasn’t looking at his uncle. He was looking at her. His expression was shuttered, impossible to read. He blinked, and his throat bobbed once. Still, he did not move.

_Well shit._

Kenny was actually going to make Levi kill her.

This was not how she saw today playing out.

Stuck in Kenny’s stifling, smoke choked office, Hanj  _did_ have an idea. It was showing more of her hand than she’d like - especially since she’d yet to verify a single fact. But she was out of time and options.

Tearing her gaze from Levi, Hanji rounded on Kenny. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Kenny had been frowning at his nephew, sharp eyes reading, evaluating. When she spoke, his attention fastened back on her.

“But you’ve got to evacuate your base. And stop asking for my execution,” she added, scowling.

Kenny laughed. He actually laughed. Tipping his head back, he cackled, extinguishing the cigarette on his seared and blackened desk. “A deal? We already had a deal. You failed to hold up your end. What could you possibly offer me?”

She took a breath - and said, “Are you aware that Police Chief Zackly is working with Fritz to sell weapons to the Lower East Side Mob?”

The flattened cigarette slipped between Kenny’s fingers.

“I’ll make you a deal, Kenny,” she said, pressing her hands on his desk as she leaned over the wood. “Cut the bullshit. Get your people out of here - And I’ll use Zackly’s big scandal to ruin both him and Fritz. You’ll lose two of your biggest enemies in one go.”

“Unbelievable. Making deals on deals. No better than a debtor trying to borrow their way out of the red,” Kenny said, lips curling. His gaze, however, swept her face, calculating.

“Best case, I get rid of two very big problems for you. And worst case,” Hanji smiled grimly, “you call the debt,” and ticked her index finger and thumb up, loosely imitating a pistol.

Kicking back from the desk, Kenny stood.

Hanji straightened. She didn’t step back. Duran was likely still on the other side of the door. There was nowhere to go.

“You’re either the worst gambler - or the best,” Kenny said and grinned, showing all his teeth. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Hanji nodded, not quite trusting her voice. And not quite trusting that the gamble - because Kenny wasn’t  _wrong_ \- had actually worked.

“Levi, spread the word. We’re leaving in twenty. Tell ‘em to pack up the cash and make ready to head to the station side base.”

Levi had taken no more than a step when Kenny pulled something from beneath his desk that made him halt where he stood.

The polished metal winked in the dim light.

Hanji went absolutely still, watching as Kenny brandished the knife.

“Kenny.” Levi’s voice was a rasp.

Spinning it round his fingers, Kenny circled around the desk and said, “You’ve got backbone, that’s for sure. And you’re potentially useful - if you can take care of Zackly and Fritz for me. But understand, people aren’t allowed to talk to me like that. The way you just did.”

The floor creaked with each step. Hanji was acutely aware of Levi’s presence behind her. With Kenny before her and Levi at her back, she was trapped.

“I’m not gonna kill you. Not yet. But I do have to cut you,” he said, disturbingly calm, “once or twice, as punishment.” His gaze flicked over her face. “Maybe I’ll aim just right and take out one of those big eyes.”

Kenny lunged.

She leapt back.

_Too slow._

He snatched her wrist, and wrenched. Losing her balance, she stumbled forward, falling against him. And  _oh god_ , he palmed the hilt, raking the blade down and -

She was slammed sideways, into the desk. It’s hard corner jabbed bruisingly against her hip, and she was vaguely aware of something reaching over her, pressing her back.

Then the room went still. 

Bracing her forearm against the desk, Hanji pushed up. She realized it was an arm pressing over her, and as she moved,  it shook once, the briefest tremble.

She turned.

Levi stood, one leg braced between hers, one arm outstretched, pressing her back. He’d thrown the other arm up. Blood stained the pressed, unwrinkled fabric of his sleeve. Kenny’s blade bit into his forearm.

Kenny stared down at his nephew, surprise evident in every facet of his expression. He yanked the knife back. From it’s cruel edge, dark blood dripped.

Levi had -

She looked again, from Levi to the dripping knife.

The most she’d dared to hope for was his inaction in a situation such as this. He’d made it clear - he’d always made it very clear that whatever they were to each other, he was an Ackerman first. And as such, business came first. His loyalty to Kenny came first.

This was -

Unexpected. Terrifying. Dangerous.

She must have said his name. She hadn’t meant to.

He shifted, not daring to take his eyes from his uncle, but the arm that pressed against her pushed, insistent.

Bracing herself against the desk, Hanji stood.

“Cut her up, and she’s gonna stand out. Her friends in the police will know something’s up. She’ll never get anywhere near Zackly,” Levi said, licking his lips. He slowly lowered his arm. Blood dribbled between his fingers.

It was an excuse - and a belated one at that.

Kenny was watching them. Twirling the bloodied knife, his gaze shifted between them. He blinked. “Huh.”

He blinked one more time, and looked slowly from her - back to Levi, and then his lips were curving in a slow, creeping smile. His gaze was that of a predator. A fox who’d, completely by accident, stumbled upon the one fatal flaw in the hen house’s design.

And then it was gone - wiped away. If she’d blinked, she would have missed it. In its place, Kenny frowned, and he appeared annoyed but accepting.

“Fine. But I  _will_ cut the mouthy reporter if she isn’t appropriately respectful from now on,” Kenny said, glaring over Levi’s head. “Got that?”

“Got it,” Hanji said, forcing her throat to work.

“Get that cleaned up,” Kenny said, nodding to Levi’s arm. He tossed the knife carelessly to the floor and sauntered past them.

Opening the door, he gave Duran the order he’d previously given Levi - to pack and evacuate.

As soon as his back was turned, Hanji tore a handkerchief out of her bag. When she pressed it against Levi’s arm, he started.

“You’ve got to put pressure on it.”

Pale, Levi met her gaze. He nodded and managed a rough, “thanks.”

“Levi,” Kenny said, turning a look over his shoulder. “Just remembered - I know a guy, an arms dealer. He likes to hit up the casinos on the Lower East Side of town. Our reporter can go give him a talking to, see if he knows anything about the Zackly business.” He looked to Hanji. “You’ll go. Tomorrow. It’s a dangerous area, sure. But you should manage.”

“Sure,” she said, meeting his gaze. She refused to be intimidated.

“Since it’s a bit of a risky business, you can go with her, Levi. If you want.”

Levi pressed his hand over the bloodied handkerchief and nodded.

He looked up, and she recognized the expression on his face - resignation. He’d seen it too - the trap Kenny was forcing him to step into. What he’d be admitting if he chose to join her.

Kenny was sending her into Lower East Side territory - to meet an arms dealer, in one of their casinos no less.  _Hell_ , even with the backup of someone like Levi, snooping around a Lower East Side casino could very well mean death.

Hanji watched Levi, standing there, head bent and bloodied handkerchief pressed against his arm, and was reminded, irrationally, of a night years ago. When her parents had taken her to the circus. 

Holding her parent’s hands, she’d gaped, head craned back as she watched the spectacle, a cacophonous mixture of sound and color. At the center of it all, she’d spied a boy. Among the twisting colors and tricks, he alone, was still.

The boy was high above, balancing on a platform atop a long pole. In front of him, stretched an audaciously thin rope. Below, no net waited to catch him.

Hanji had watched him, his hands tapping anxiously at his sides as he stared at that rope. His throat bobbled, and even at a distance, she saw when he closed his eyes. When he opened them, his toes curled around the edge of the platform. His face was set.

Staring up, breathless and unblinking, she clutched her parents hands as the boy stepped into the air.

At the door, Kenny waited.

Adjusting the bloody handkerchief, Levi looked up.

It was a sinking feeling, the realization that something had shifted in their relationship, and that it has taken such circumstances as these to realize its significance. Because while she didn’t precisely grasp the intricacies of Kenny’s trap, she understood, instinctively, that Levi would be exposing a vulnerable side of himself should he say yes.

And she  _clearly_ needed to do some soul-searching with regard to her feelings about Levi, because looking at him now - she had a sudden, irrational hope: that he would avoid Kenny’s trap. That he would  _refuse_ to go with her.

When Levi looked up, his expression was set - like the boy before the tightrope. And she knew, with sinking certainty, he was going to take the step.  _Into thin air._

Gray eyes met her gaze and held it.

“Yeah. I’ll go.”

At the door, Kenny smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the update! Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing ended up being way too long, so I had to split it up into two separate chapters. The next one should be out at some point this week!

Historia Reiss strolled through the boutique, fingers trailing over folded silk. A pink dress. Blue skirt. White blouse. All worth a fortune, their value based not on their utility, but their beauty. It was a shop full of beautiful, useless things.

Ed shuffled after her, his hulking figure comically hunched as he maneuvered around silken and chiffon displays.

Ed, her bodyguard, was one of her father’s men -  _or no_ , she considered - he might be one of the Ackermans’.

Honestly, it made no difference. Rod Reiss was deeply entrenched with the Ackermans. He was one of them in all but name, and had been getting rich on Ackerman bribes since well before she was born.

Historia dragged up a yellow blouse, half heartedly inspecting it, before setting it back.

Ed was saying something, his deep baritone droning  _on and on_ , but it sounded quiet to her ear, as if he were distant, muted by an insurmountable distance.

She’d seen a picture once, of the ruins of a ship. It had sunk in a bay, apparently within sight of home. It must have been down there for some time - by the time the picture was taken, at least. It’s hull was skeletal, dark. Decaying wood was half swallowed by an ocean of sand, and dark, heavy water pressed in on all sides. At the bottom of the sea, it existed in quiet, unbroken isolation.

And so Historia brushed her fingers over silk as Ed talked and the saleswoman smiled, and she wondered how it was possible to be surrounded by people - guards, maids, servants - every second of the day, and yet be so horrendously alone.

As she made a loop of the shop, Ed stopped at the counter. She saw him look to her, then take a cursory glance around the store before pausing to smile at the shopkeep. She was young, attractive, and when Ed leaned up against the counter she blushed and glanced away.

After a long look in their direction, Historia turned, and resumed trailing her fingers over the silk. Rod expected her to come home with a new dress. With the election nearing, she was to attend an upcoming rally at his side - and what was a doll without a pretty dress?

Her shoes clicked on the polished floor, as she rounded a display, and found herself in front of a door.

Lifting her hand from the silks, she tried the handle.

The door swung open. Bright sunlight filtered in, and beyond - a wide alleway that stretched between the shops.

She could still hear Ed talking - that horrible, distant drone.

When she stepped outside, carefully closing the door behind her, she couldn’t say she had a particular goal or plan in mind, save that the day was beautiful and the sun was warm, and the notion of spending another moment surrounded by delicate dresses was frankly unbearable.

Clutching the smooth fabric of her day dress - a nervous habit, she marched out of the alley and - after glancing to and fro - set off in the direction of Rose Square. It wasn’t far. And as she walked the busy street, she reasoned that she’d be headed back before Ed had the time to grow too worried.

It was a rare experience to walk the streets of Sina. Rarer still, was walking them alone.

Historia watched the people:

A man in overalls, a smudge of oil on his face, swiftly cut across the street.

A woman, black hair cut short, cupped her hands against a storefront display, trying to get a better look through the window.

Across the street, on the sidewalk, a lanky individual walked, nearly keeping pace with her. They walked with their hands in their pockets and wore a cap to cover their hair. A splattering of freckles dusted their light brown skin.

Historia watched the stranger across the street for a moment before her attention was drawn to a vendor selling street treats, and then to a saxophone playing in a coffee shop ahead. She’d decided to stop in the coffee shop when she heard it - a high-pitched squeal of pain.

For a moment, Historia was back in the orphanage of her childhood, wedged in the narrow space beneath her bed as the matron prowled the halls, looking to punish any child too slow to hide.

And then she was back on the street, warm midday sun beating down on her, and her feet were moving. Silk swishing against her legs, she hustled around the corner. An alley stretched in front of her, narrower and darker than the one behind the dress boutiques. Near its end, a man in a dirty bowler stood, fist raised. Beneath him, two children cowered. They were sprawled out, bruised legs bent, and thin arms thrown up to shield their heads.

Historia couldn’t recall running, but when his meaty fist came down, she was there. Throwing both arms up, she caught his wrist. Her arms jolted with the impact, and her palms stung with pain.

Surprised, the man jerked his fist back.

“Leave - Leave them  _alone,_ ” she panted, stuttering, as she craned her neck to glare up at him.

Pressing the bowler hat down on his head, the man sneered, thin lips curling grotesquely. “An’ who the fuck do you think you are, interrupting my business?”

Acutely aware that for every part of the city Rod Reiss was liked - there were another two in which he was very much not, Historia stopped short of sharing her name.

“Someone who - who objects to child abuse.”

“An’ I object to you stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong,” the man said, and added. “These kids work for Robert Wallis, the big shot in textiles. An’ it’s my job to deal with the slackers. So move, or you’ll take a wallopin’ too.”

Historia chanced a glance over her shoulder. The kids stared up at her - a boy and a girl, with large eyes and sallow, sunken faces. They couldn’t be older than seven or eight. 

“Does Mr. Wallis know about Sina’s child labor laws?”

“You think Wallis cares?”

Historia turned back at the crunch of boots on gravel.

The man in the bowler loomed over her.

“Out of the way, girl.”

Historia took half a step back and stopped. The children were behind her. When she moved, her ankle brushed a knobbly knee. Forcing her trembling hands into fists, she met his beady-eyed gaze.

When he lifted his hand, his lips curled up, and he looked almost eager.

“You’ll regret this,” she croaked.

“Not as much as you’re gonna, girlie.”

“So,” a new voice entered the alley, mocking the man in rich, caustic tones. “You were hired specifically to beat up small children - and the occasional young woman. In alleys, no less. What a career.”

Bowler hat man looked up.

Historia followed his gaze.

The freckle-faced stranger sauntered into the alley. They held a curved pipe loosely in hand. When the stranger saw Historia looking, they winked, flashing her a roguish smile.

“And who the fuck are you?” the man hissed, clearly exasperated.

“Me? I’m just out on my lunch break. But it’s funny. Serendipitous really. Cause I was just thinking how long it’s been since I’ve had the chance to beat the ever loving shit out of an ugly scumbag like yourself,” they said twirling the pipe.

A meaty hand pushed Historia’s shoulder and the bowler hat man shoved past. Swinging his arm back, he roared in rage.

The stranger pivoted, nimbly dodging the punch. The pipe flashed and struck with a harsh crack.

Clutching at his knee, the man howled. With his free hand, he snatched out. The freckled stranger jumped back, laughing.

Hissing curses, bowler hat man took off in a limping charge. His opponent twisted away again. This time, using the pipe to smack the man in the back as he passed.

As bowler hat man stumbled and turned, the stranger twirled the pipe in hand.

“You done yet?”

“Fucking upstart son-of-a-bitch, I’m gonna-”

“First of all,” they said, reaching for their cap. Removing it with a flourish, they revealed the short ponytail that had been tucked underneath. “If you want to be accurate, it’s upstart bitch. But that’s no fucking way to be talking to a lady.” Glancing back at Historia, she winked again.

Historia blinked, mouth dropping open.

Oh.

The bowler hat man was turning red. “You - you -  _bitch_.”

“Hey dickhead, _I just said_  -”

He charged her.

Winding back, she swung the pipe like a bat. It struck his face with a harsh metallic  _thwack_. He crumpled like a felled tree.

Shaking out her hand, the young woman tossed the pipe to the ground. She turned around, nodding to the collapsed man, and said, “so we should probably go.”

Up close, her freckles were even more distinct. Rich and dark, they dusted her cheeks and nose. Messy bangs brushed her forehead. A sliver of light in the alleyway caught her eyes; they seemed to glow hazel.

“The kids okay?” the woman added, glancing down.

_Right._

Historia turned, guilt eating her for not checking on them immediately. She’d gotten caught up in the fight. Dropping to her knees, she soothed the children with soft words as she checked them over.

“You a doctor?”

Historia hummed as she inspected the girl’s wrist. Sprained, not broken.

“Not technically, no. But I’ve had plenty of training. Enough to be helpful at orphanages and halfway homes.”

“Let me get this straight, you not only rescue children in alleys - but also spend your free time caring for the poor and needy in orphanages and halfway houses?”

“Don’t make it sound like more than it is.”

The young woman held up her hands. “Whatever you say.”

Historia glanced up. “Thank you, by the way. You really saved me - and them.”

The woman looked at her, and glanced away. “I wasn’t lying. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to beat up a dickwad.”

Historia checked the boy, making soothing noises when he started to cry. Fortunately, he didn’t have anything worse than a scraped knee.

As she helped the kids up, bowler hat man twitched and groaned.

Historia looked to the woman.

Grabbing her hat, the woman nodded to the entrance of the alley. “Time to go.”

At the mouth of the alley, they paused.

“What about them?” The woman asked, looking down at the two sniffling children clinging to each of Historia’s hands.

“I know a place - an orphanage. A good one,” she said. When the girl looked up, blinking wide, watery eyes at her, Historia smiled and squeezed her good hand.

“You’ll be okay getting there?”

“It’s not far.”

The woman looked down, and paused, adjusting her hat.

Historia watched as she played with the material on the cap. A worn boot scuffed against the ground as she hesitated, kicking her toe against the curb.

Historia had never considered her life to be her own. The only reason she wasn’t on the street - or worse - was because her father had discovered a use for her. As such, she didn’t exactly have friends. The orphanages and halfway house were really the only things that were hers. And even then - Rod paid for them, and he saw them as a political tool.

But as she watched the woman blink, dark lashes brushing freckles as those hazel eyes flicked up, catching the light, Historia found herself speaking, against her better judgment.

“My name, it’s Historia.”

“Historia,” the woman said, lips quirking sideways as she tried the name. “I’m Ymir.”

“Ymir,” Historia repeated.

Ymir shrugged. “The one and only.”

Acutely aware of the small hands clinging to her own, Historia knew she had to go. And by now, Ed was surely looking for her. But she found herself reluctant to leave. She didn’t get the opportunity to meet many outside of her father’s residence. And she’d never met anyone quite like Ymir.

But the kids were her priority. Their hands were trembling and Historia knew their abuser was still in the alley - probably slowly regaining strength. She’d have to tell the cops about him - once the children were safe.

Stepping reluctantly back, she smiled, small. “Bye Ymir. Thank you. Again.”

Ymir nodded, tucking her hands in her pockets. “I’ll see you around, short stuff.”

Historia doubted it. Sina was too big. People didn’t just happen upon each other. Especially when one of them was hardly let out of the house.

But it was a nice thought.

As she led the children away, she couldn’t help one last glance behind her, and caught a final glimpse of Ymir as she tucked her ponytail beneath her hat and strolled into the crowd.

* * *

 

In front of the mirror, Levi finished buttoning his vest and adjusted the leather shoulder holster that dangled at his side.

Behind him, Mikasa waited, watching him with folded arms.

He felt her gaze as he checked the safety on his gun. It didn’t waver as he tucked the gun in the holster and began systematically hiding blades on his person. As he secured the final blade beneath his left sleeve, he finally gave in.

“ _What?_ ”

“This is stupid. Probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I’m aware.”

In the mirror, he watched her pace. Drumming her fingers against her arms, she glared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

His suit jacket was draped on the back of a nearby armchair. As he turned to grab it, Mikasa followed him.

“Going to a Lower East Side casino is a terrible idea.”

“Again, I’m aware,” he said, glancing back at the mirror as he straightened the suit.

“Then  _why go_?” Her voice was caustic - accusing.

He was breaking one of their unspoken rules:  _Don’t be an idiot._

 _Why_  was he being an idiot?

Put simply: Hanji Zoe.

Not that the situation was a simple one.

Learning that Zackly might be involved in an illegal arms deal  _with_  Fritz was like fucking Christmas come early for Kenny.

If he was sending Levi into enemy territory, it was because he truly believed this contact at the casino had the information to bust the Zackly situation wide open. Kenny might be a selfish bastard - but he wasn’t stupid. And he didn’t waste his resources on near impossible jobs - not unless the reward was really worth something.

And while Levi generally had to follow Kenny’s lead, as second in command of the Ackerman gang, Levi did have some veto power. Namely, he could refuse, and in exchange, take a beating from his uncle. Which wasn’t ideal, but was generally preferable to risking his ass on a bad job.

If given the choice, Levi would take a beating over stepping foot in that casino any day.

Strategically, finding their mark in the casino was risky. And escaping the casino once inside had all the makings of a tactical nightmare.

Despite what Kenny might think, the risk was not worth the reward. And Levi hadn’t survived this long by taking needless risks.

This time, however, choice was forcibly removed from the equation.

“The dick is forcing Hanji to go,” Levi finally answered. “I’m gonna try and keep her alive.”

A hard grip on his arm forced him to turn.

“Then  _send her away_ ,” Mikasa hissed, urgent. “You’re both... tangled up with each other. I get that. But Kenny knows and he’s using it against you.”

“No shit.”

“Then have her on the next train. The next boat.”

“She won’t go.”

Hanji was stuck. On this city. On some facet of her past. Some fundamental part of her person was wrapped up in all of this. He was tangled with her, and she, with the ruinous city - and he had the sinking feeling this hell hole was going to try to drag them both under.

“ _Make her_ , Levi. You know you could.”

Mikasa was right. He could slip something in her drink - tie her up if he had to. Have her secreted out of the city in the trunk of some car.

He could force her to leave, if he wanted to.

Kenny believed sentiment was weakness.

Levi knew Hanji needed something from this city - from Fritz and all of the bastard men like him. She needed it if she was going to make peace with the world.

And maybe Kenny was right. Maybe this was a fatal flaw in his person. An insurmountable weakness. But Levi couldn’t bring himself to take the chance of resolution from her.

“I can’t.”

Mikasa looked at him, dark eyes shifting over his face, reading him - his expression. Her fingers squeezed, digging into his arm with a painful strength - and let go.

She stepped back, heaved a long breath, and seemed to shrink on herself. Arms folded over her stomach, she shook her head. Looking out the window, she spoke, as if addressing the city. “When I was little, on those days, after Kenny had been training us, you know the ones-“

He did. Even now, his memory supplied him with flashes of brutal lessons and bruising pain.

“I’d sometimes imagine that we were the heroes in a story,’ she said. “And I thought, if we could only fight our way out of this. Defeat the bad guys, get out from underneath Kenny’s thumb. We’d be free. Have our happy ending.”

Mikasa stared blankly head, touching her fingers to the glass. “Was there ever any chance, you think, of us getting that happy ending?”

Buttoning his cuffs, Levi tapped a hand over his gun - and then over his knives, and thought of his dad - the gangsters who’d killed him and been murdered, in turn, by Kenny - and those officers lying dead in the street.

If there were happy endings to be had, Sina wasn’t the place to find them. Not with the life he an Mikasa lived.

He wished he had a better answer.

Levi replied, conscious of the weight of the gun at his chest, the cold metal blades tucked against his skin.

“Not sure we’re in that kind of story.”

* * *

 

She took the stairs two at a time, low heels tapping on wood. Her dropped waist dress fluttered, brushing her legs. She’d left her hair down, and it swept distractingly over her shoulders. She itched to pull it up, but keeping it down was more in line with the current trends. She’d stand out less. Besides, on the off chance any of the gangsters who’d accompanied Fritz to Maureen’s house were at the casino, she’d be better off changing her appearance, at least a little.

Outside, a black Ford idled at the curb. Its round headlights stared ahead, two beams in the gray twilight. Inside, Levi waited.

When she opened the door, he greeted her with a nod. And as they drove, roaring through the congested streets, silence surrounded them, heavy with the weight of all that had been shared the previous day, and - more significantly - all that had still yet to be said.

If Levi’s arm was bandaged, all evidence of it was covered by a new, crisp sleeve and ironed suit jacket.

They hadn’t talked since Kenny’s office. She wasn’t sure exactly what the both of them were supposed to say.

It was one thing to acknowledge their relationship was changing - it was another to speak of it.

After all, these were dangerous times to be forming attachments. Attachments, of any kind, made difficult decisions harder. And when life inevitably went sideways - as it often did in Sina - the deeper the attachment, the more intolerable the pain.

They passed beneath a streetlamp, and the car’s interior flickered, briefly lighting the occupants in a pale, ethereal glow.

Hands in her lap, fingers twisting together, Hanji at last found words.

“Thanks. For coming with me tonight. I know it wasn’t an easy choice.”

Levi turned the wheel, and his voice was like the low scrape of tires on asphalt.

“Kenny’s a dick.”

It surprised a short laugh out of her.

“Understatement of the year.”

The corner of his lips twitched.

And with the short exchange, some of the tension bled from the car.

“How’s your arm?”

“They didn’t have to amputate,” he said, his voice dry.

“What a relief,” she joked back.

A pause.

“Thank you. For that too.”

Levi turned, and as the car straightened out, he allowed the leather steering wheel to slide smoothly beneath his hands.

“Thanks for the warning. You risked a lot going there.”

“Yeah, well, I had to do something.”

They passed a popular shopping district, and Hanji, looking out the window, caught a glimpse of a beggar in rags, lit harshly beneath the district’s bright lights. The man, dirty and unkempt, was shouting - or crying - as a stony faced officer dragged him from his stoop.

Levi spoke, dragging her attention back to the car.

“I didn’t think. When it happened,” he said, thumb tapping anxiously against the wheel. “I saw that fucking knife coming down, and just moved.”

After he spoke, he swallowed and shifted in his seat, forcefully regripping the steering wheel.

She reached over on impulse, fingers brushing his tensed arm. At her touch, he stiffened, but as her thumb shifted, rubbing a pattern against his forearm, she felt him relax.

“What’s he going to do?” 

She didn’t need to specify who.

“Don’t know yet. It’ll go better if everything works out tonight - with the contact. Kenny likes to get his way.”

A clear goal, then. She could work with that.

“Alright. Let’s talk plans.”

* * *

 

The Porter House Club and Casino was awash with light. Bouncing, upbeat music blared from the arched, open doorway, and revelers entered the casino in glittering, bedazzled lines.

As the valet drove away with the car, Hanji and Levi entered the spectacle arm in arm.

She had never visited one of the Lower East Side Casinos. They’d always had a reputation for being more than a bit of a sleazy affair - not to mention pricey. And of course, after she started working with the Ackermans, she avoided the establishments on principal.

The crowd was moving, pushing excitedly forward. Bumping and shifting with the crowd, Hanji held tight to Levi’s arm, and as they crossed the threshold to the tune of a cacophonous jazz band, she gave it a squeeze.

The interior of the casino was an experience in itself.

A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, a spectacle of shimmering crystal. It’s lights were dimmed, and the glittering monstrosity lit the room in a seductively soft glow. As the jazzy beat pulsed with irresistible rhythm, men and women threw back drinks, and leaned in close to their companions, swaying to the music as they spoke, lips brushing ears, straining to be heard over the music.

An army of three-belled slot machines lined the room in endless, perfectly straight rows. From them, came the raucous whir of slots and the clanking of coins. Beyond, the green felt gambling tables sat. And beyond them, the dimly lit bar.

The bar was their first stop. With liquor flowing throughout the casino, they’d stand out without a glass in hand.

As the bartender served up their drinks, Hanji snatched hers. Relishing the press of cool glass against her warm, sweaty fingers, she tossed the whiskey back.

Levi who’d only sipped at his, saw what she’d done and sighed, motioning the bartender back. He paid for another, and as the burn of the first drink worked its way into her stomach, she took the second drink, this time using it as an accessory as planned.

As she took a depressingly small sip of whiskey, Levi leaned in. And as she tilted her head toward him, her hair swayed between them. He pushed it back, and she felt the barest touch of skin as his fingers brushed her neck. He was warm, and she was aware of the soft brush of breath as he leaned in to speak at her ear.  

“We should walk the perimeter of the room first. Check for alternate exits.”

As he spoke, his voice low, and his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, she felt herself flushing, as shivering goosebumps rose on her skin.

“It would be faster to split up, but we should stick together. It’s too dangerous - Lower East Siders everywhere,” he added, his thumb lightly brushing her bare shoulder.

It was a small movement - unexpected given the circumstances, and Hanji thought it likely he hadn’t even realized he’d done it.

When she turned to speak to him, she found that with her head tilted, they were nearly cheek to cheek.

“You think they’ll recognize you?” she asked, leaning in to speak at his ear.

She felt his breath, the slight hitch of hesitation. Finally, “...this is the last place they’d expect me to be. But we shouldn’t push our luck. The sooner we find this guy, the better.”

“Then we should split up. I’ll look for him. You scope the building.”

He was already shaking his head.

“We need to be quick, Levi. Stay too long, and we might not make it out at all.”

What she didn’t mention, was the incendiary element she added to their already volatile concoction of circumstances. She, too, was in danger of being recognized. The men who’d accompanied Fritz to Maureen’s residence could be running security tonight. Not to mention the likelihood that Fritz had spread word of her description.

They couldn’t afford to be in this casino any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Tempting as it would be to blame her next action on the whiskey - ascribing it to anything other than impulse and the tight, warm feeling in her chest would be a bald faced lie.

The drum from the jazz band was a thudding, thumping heartbeat that enveloped them, filling every empty space in the room, and Hanji, hands sliding up his arms, leaned in. Closing her eyes, she pressed a long, lingering kiss against his cheek - and stepped away.

“I’ll be fine!” she shouted over the trumpet’s wailing melody.

For a moment, his expression was unguarded, and she glimpsed shock, and fear, and something painfully tender. It was gone in an instant, and as she stepped back, she half expected him to reach for her.

He didn’t.

Clutching at his drink, he nodded once. It was a harsh, curt motion.

They separated at the bar, and as she stepped away, she heard a sound, as if he’d called after her. But when she turned to look, a crowd was moving between them, and by the time it cleared, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying it! Let me know what you think :)


	10. Chapter 10

Jazz, led by a brazen trumpet, blared through the room, beguiling the crowds - enticing, seducing. Somewhere, amidst the madness, a clock struck eleven, and Hanji, trapped by the press of bodies, the unforgiving hand on her wrist, felt the hard, unmistakable press of a pistol against her side.

In the band, a drum beat  _cracked_.

Her eyes went wide - and in that second, that infinite moment, she thought of Levi. The last glimpse she’d had of him across the bar. The last before -

.

.

.

Casually sipping at her whiskey, Hanji strolled the casino floor. The gambling tables drew substantial crowds, and eager observers swarmed games of blackjack, roulette, and poker.

Skirting the tables, she scanned the crowd.

Maddie Burns.

He was their mark.

As Kenny had described him, the guy was stocky, apparently had blond, but graying hair, and wore a pair of round reading spectacles.

Not a whole lot to go on.

So far, she’d only spotted one man who somewhat fit the description, and he’d been missing the glasses.

As she scrutinized the crowd, a laughing drunkard swayed toward her. Drink spilling down his front, he tripped, stumbling toward her. She jumped back - and nearly collided with another individual. A young woman in a suit.

The woman’s brown hair was combed back, secured in a ponytail at the back of her neck. Freckles dusted her dark skin, collecting on her cheeks and nose. And when Hanji stopped just short of stepping into her, she glared at her with cold, hazel eyes.

“Hey,  _watch it_.”

The woman’s voice was low, melodic, biting.

“Oops,” Hanji held up her hands in apology, and shouted to be heard over the music, “Didn’t see you there!”

The woman rolled her eyes, muttering beneath her breath. As she lifted her hand to brush back a stray hair, her sleeve slipped back, and Hanji glimpsed red ink on her wrist. A rose.

The signature of the Lower East Side Mob.

Hanji’s gaze immediately shifted to her vest and coat. She couldn’t see the bulge of a gun, but it certainly didn’t mean the woman wasn’t armed.

The mobster gave her a long look.

Under her scrutiny, Hanji instinctively stilled. She forced herself to take a measured sip of her drink.

Casual. She had to look casual.

Her mind raced.

Had Fritz spread word about her description? Did this Lower East Sider recognize her?

Hanji’s gaze flicked to either side of the room, then back to the woman. Should she make a run for it or -

“The hell are you staring at me for?” the woman griped. “Get out of my face.”

Hanji didn’t need to be told twice. Turning on her heel, she pushed into the nearest crowd, elbowing party-goers out of the way in her haste.

She’d hoped to avoid any close encounters with Lower East Side Gangsters. This time, luck had been on her side. The woman either hadn’t heard word of her description - or against all odds, hadn’t recognized her.

She’d have to be more careful. Luck didn’t favor a fool twice.

Sipping at her drink, she circled the gambling tables, and waited for her racing heart to settle. Keeping her head angled down, she brushed past party-goers as she worked her way through bustling crowds. She was nearly past the blackjack tables when she saw him. It was the hair she noticed first. Blond and streaked with silver, it brushed his shoulders. Closely guarding his cards, he pursed thin lips, nose twitching as his bespectacled gaze observed the cards in play.

It was him. It had to be.

Joining the crowd around the table, Hanji sidled up to him, feigning interest in the game. As the game played out, she nursed her drink, watching as cards were laid on the table.

Burns flipped his cards, revealing his hand. The crowd groaned. Scowling and adjusting his glasses, he paid up, sliding his lost wager across the table.

As they transitioned into the next game, and the seats at the table were traded, Hanji pressed closer. She lifted her drink. Flinging herself forward, as if tripped, she fell against him, spilling what was left of her whiskey down his back.

Burns cursed, straightening in his seat.

“ _Shit_. I am  _so_  sorry!” Hanji said, waving her hands to imitate distress.

Pulling at his wet jacket, he glared up at her. “The fuck is your problem?”

“Someone bumped me - and I’d  _already_  had a few of these, so….” she said, rummaging in her small clutch for a napkin, which she uselessly dabbed against his drenched jacket. “Here, let me help you get cleaned up. In fact, I’ll buy you a drink! To make up for the one down your back.”

That got his attention. Tapping the table, he glanced from the blackjack game, still yet to start, to her - and then her purse.

His pile of green and gold chips was dwindling.

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed at last, and shoved back from the table.

She waited as he gathered his chips.

On their way to the bar, Hanji scanned the crowd while Burns muttered about the criminally wasted alcohol drenching his back.

Where the hell was Levi?  

“You’re pretty. But you look awkward as hell in that getup.”

Hanji turned her attention back to the muttering man, torn between amusement and offense.

“You don’t like my dress?” she asked, mock offended.

“I like it just fine, but you keep tuggin’ on it. Like you’d rather be wearin’ something else.”

“Because I would rather be wearing something else,” Hanji said, and waved down the bartender.

“Then why aren’t you?”

“What is this, twenty questions?”

He shrugged, and his round glasses made his eyes seem comically large. “Just making small talk.”

Hanji slid a drink to him and said, “I’ve got something I’d like to talk about.”

He took a swig of the drink, his thick, unkempt brows lifting in question.

Music pulsed through the room as she leaned in.

At his ear, she breathed, “What do you know about Zackly’s involvement in the illegal sale of weapons, Mr. Maddie Burns?”

He choked.

Eyes bulging, Burns pounded his chest as he heaved wheezing coughs.

“I hear the Mayor’s involved as well,” she added, watching him struggle.

Drink forgotten, he pressed toward her, speaking in a frantic whisper, “And what the hell do  _you_  know ‘bout all that?”

“Enough,” she said, shrugging. Picking up his abandoned drink, she took a long sip.

“You wanna get me killed? _Do you_  wanna get killed?” A thin sheen of sweat gathered on his neck and forehead.

“I want the truth, Mr. Burns.”

“The truth is death.”

“I hear you used to be involved with this mess,” Hanji said, pressing on. “And I think you’ve probably got some evidence tucked away somewhere, as protection. Evidence that would get Zackly, and maybe others, in a whole lot of trouble.”

His upper lip had started to glisten. It trembled. “I wanted out of it - the job. The life. And I somehow managed to do it. But that evidence, lady, is the only thing keeping me alive. They know I have it, and they know it’ll be released if they come for me. If I release it now, they’re likely to kill me where I stand.”

“If they know you have it, they’re eventually going to kill you anyway.”

She didn’t know as much about Zackly, but it was how men like Fritz operated. Risks were dealt with. Promptly and thoroughly.

Burns was shaking his head. “I hid it. The evidence. One copy is in a secret location. One that only I know. The other is with someone else. Protected.”

“Burns, you’re in danger,” Hanji said, horrified. “These people won’t sit back and let evidence like that continue to exist. Likely the only reason you haven’t been tortured for information is because they’ve been occupied with other matters. That, and they probably don’t see you as an immediate threat,” she conceded. “But once this election is done, they’ll undoubtedly come for you.”

“Then, I’ll - I’ll leave town,” he stuttered.

“You think your place isn’t being watched? They’ll come for you the moment you start packing.”

Burns stole the drink back from her. Tipping his head back, he downed it in one go. “I should try to run. If you’re not bullshitting me...” he said, eyeing her as he wiped the remnants of the drink from his mouth.

“No bullshit here,” she answered. “But I do have a proposition. One that doesn’t require you to give everything up and flee.”

“I’m not gonna give you the damn evidence,” he said, too loud - and shrunk back, lowering his voice to a whisper. “ _So stop asking!_ ”

“What if it meant money? A lot of it. And twenty-four hour protection.”

While Hanji hadn’t heard of any such promises from Kenny directly, she knew the Ackermans had the resources to make good on them. And if Zackly and Fritz fell, and Reiss, the Ackerman’s man, won the election, Kenny would have plenty reason to make good on the promises she offered.

Burns had stilled and was watching her carefully. “The Ackermans?”

“The Ackermans,” she confirmed.

Gripping the bar for support, he stared blankly ahead.

Hanji ordered them two more drinks.

Patting his sleeve against his forehead, he took his like a shot.

“You are alive right now because Fritz and Zackly haven’t had reason to kill you, yet. But they will. Rather than wait for that to happen, seek out protection. Now.”

Burns played with the glass, tapping it on the counter. “It’s risky.”

“Better than waiting to die.”

He nodded, turning the empty glass in hand. “I...can’t make a decision like that. Not here and now. I’ll meet with you. Tomorrow. If I show up, it’ll mean I decided to go for it. If not, you’ll know I made a run for it.”

“Where will we meet?”

“There’s a park - off Sixth and Poppy.”

“Time?”

“Noon?”

“That’ll work,” she said, and knocked back her drink. “You should go. Leave the casino. Go home. We shouldn’t be seen at the same location.”

He frowned, petulant, “Why can’t you go?”

“Go home Burns,” she snapped.

The Lower East Side Casinos weren’t safe on the best of days. The last thing she needed was Burns being murdered before he could agree to give her the evidence.

His shoulders drooped in concession. Before he left, he hesitated at her side.

“...you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow. When we meet.”

 _When_  not  _if._  As a journalist practiced in pushing for leads, she found that it paid to be confident in matters such as these.

When he left, it was in a hurried shuffle that fell miles short of casual walking.

Hanji watched him go, wondering if she’d made the right call. In letting him go, there was always the chance that he’d try to run. But she suspected he wouldn’t. At least, not right away. He seemed to enjoy life here in Sina. He’d likely longed to be completely free from Fritz and Zackly’s control for quite some time.

She’d find out tomorrow, anyway.

Sliding the empty glass back on the bar, she turned, surveying the casino. The crowds had grown thicker and the music, louder.

What was taking Levi so long?

She’d been entirely focused on Burns.

How long had Levi been gone?

She frowned, and checked her watch, squinting against the darkness.

An hour. At least.

Would it really take that long to scope the building?

Her stomach started an uncomfortable churning as considered the likelihood that Levi had been recognized. Would they have killed him on sight?

A voice in her head whispered, accusing -  _the only reason he came here in the first place was to look out for you-_

_No._

He was fine.

He had to be.

The Burns situation was dealt with - and now she’d find him.

She’d only just stepped away from the bar, when a head in the crowd turned turned her way.

She made the mistake of looking back.

The man wore a suit, and when he moved, his jacket awkwardly bulged around the shape of a weapon. She got a look at his square face and short, dark hair.

She recognized him.

At Maureen’s house, he’d stood beside Fritz’s chair, the silenced gun in hand. He’d pulled the trigger and Maureen’s velvet couch had turned red.

 _Lackey_ , she thought.

_Mobster._

_Murderer._

He was looking right at her.

For a long, impossible moment, they both froze as their eyes met across the room.

She shoved into the crowd.

The man shouted something, pushing party-goers out of the way as he followed.

The trumpet wailed, and Hanji dodged, slipping between dancers and gamblers. Glass crashed as the Lower East Sider lunged through the crowd, knocking people and drinks aside in his haste.

She skirted a couple, and slipped between two slot machines. She knocked a stack of coins to the floor and a man shouted after her.

At the center of the room, the crowds were thicker, and she found herself pushing and shoving, elbowing people aside.

If the Lower East Sider found her, she was dead. Fritz would never let her live. She knew too much.

She tried to push past a hulking man in a suit and was shoved back.

The trumpet screamed.

A rough hand grabbed her wrist - and yanked.

The dark-haired mobster held her. Fingers clenched painfully around her wrist, he reached for his gun.

She lunged at him, driving her shoulder into his sternum.

Wheezing, he squeezed tighter.

Jazz played, overwhelmingly loud.

The hard muzzle of a gun pressed into her side.

Time seemed to stop.

A hand wrenched the man’s arm, dragging the gun aside. It discharged into the floor.

“ _Down!_ ”

At the sound of that voice, she was flooded with warmth. She ducked without a thought.

A fist slammed into her attacker’s face, a wet smack of blood and bone. The dark-haired man’s head snapped back. He crumpled like a wet rag.

 _Levi_.

Nearby, woman screamed.

Chest heaving, Levi turned. “Someone recognized me.”

He had a red scrape on his cheek and a smeared trail of blood beneath his nose.

Shouting over the music, he reached for her. “ _We gotta go!_ ”

She grabbed his hand.

They sprinted, pushing through the crowd. On their left, was a flash of movement. On their right, another.

Their pursuers had drawn weapons.

One, pushing patrons aside, charged into their path.

She’d barely registered the danger when Levi, drawing a dagger from some unknown place on his person, shoved the blade into the gangster’s chest. It pressed through fabric and skin without resistance.

The man fell back, and Levi stepped over him, dragging her along.

The people around them were screaming, jumping back in panic.

It cleared the way.

Levi wasn’t leading them to the front of the casino, but a wing off of the main hall. She could only assume he’d found a less obvious escape route in his initial exploration.

As they weaved between gamblers and dancers, Levi shouted over his shoulder, “Tell me you managed to find our guy!”

“Found him!” she called, and caught sight of a swinging fist out of the corner of her eye. She ducked, and felt the air shift as a fist sailed above her.

Doubling back, Levi drove his knee into the gangster’s stomach. When he doubled over, Levi twisted, violently slamming his elbow into the man’s face.

Grabbing his hand, Hanji dragged him back into motion.

“We arranged a meeting. Maybe,” she said, and explained, “He’s still undecided.”

“He’s gone?”

“I told him to leave.”

“Good. One less thing-” Levi drove his fist into an approaching gangster’s nose. “-to worry about.”

They emerged from the crowd at the room’s edge. Levi pushed at her back, shoving her towards the kitchens.

They reached the door as the harsh rap of gunfire pierced the music.

Throwing herself at the door, she shoved through.

The kitchen was loud and bustling, though not to so great an extent as the casino beyond, and cooks and servers stared after them, baffled, as they sprinted through.

At the other end of the kitchen was a door, and beyond it, a hallway. Passing the kitchen staff, they charged into the hall.

“Right! Door on your right!” he called, drawing a gun from inside his suit jacket.

It led to an alleyway.

Outside, the night air was cold and crisp, and the silence that fell as the door swung closed behind them was jarring. Against such stillness, their harshly heaving breaths seemed an absurdity.

Hanji turned - and there.

The valet parking lot.

They were at the end of the alley when the door burst open.

Hanji ran for the lot as Levi turned, lifting the gun. The harsh snap of gunshots echoed between alley’s narrow walls.

“Please tell me you brought a spare key!” she shouted as she ran.

Levi was slowly backing, using the corner wall for cover as he fired. When she spoke, he shot with one hand, digging into his pocket with the other. The key glinted as he tossed it through the air.

Snatching it in her palm, she ran for the cars. Her shoes clicked on the pavement as she craned her neck, looking for the black car. Behind her, Levi ran, twisting to fire at the gangsters pursuing them.

Hanji nearly passed the car before she saw it. It was pulled further into the space than the others around it, and it’s round headlights weren’t visible until the last moment.

“Levi! Here!”

She jerked the door open.

“Can you drive?” Levi called, ducking behind another car as a volley of bullets peppered the air around them.

She hopped in the driver’s seat in answer.

As she spent precious moments cranking the ignition, Levi returned fire. The pop of gunshots came in a series of rounds - like batches of firecrackers, set off, one after the next.

The car came alive beneath her hands, it’s powerful engine thrumming with energy under the hood. Throwing it into reverse, she punched the gas. Tires squealed as she jerked to a stop, and Levi, yanking the door open, jumped in.

“Go!”

Already in drive, she shoved the gas pedal into the floor. Engine roaring, they sped from the parking lot.

In the passenger seat, Levi reloaded the gun. Readying the weapon, he cranked down the window. He twisted in his seat, wind tearing at his dark hair as he glanced behind them.

“Drive for the West Side of town,” he ordered.

As he spoke, two sets of headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. The gangsters sped in pursuit.

Clutching the shuddering wheel, Hanji pressed the gas, pushing the car faster - until it’s engine was screaming beneath the hood. As the road curved, she was forced to tap the breaks. Tires squealed as they slid over pavement, fighting for purchase. Grimacing, she wrenched the wheel back, and the car straightened.

Levi turned fully around in his seat and braced a hand on the door, readying the gun.

On the next straightaway, their pursuers caught them.

Bullets hissed through the air, ricocheting off metal and piercing glass.

Street lamps flashed by, illuminating the interior of the car in bursts of light, like flickering snapshots.

Besieged by bullets, the rear window shattered, an explosion of glittering shards. In the split second of impact, the sharp glass was suspended in the air, like snow frozen in the act of falling.

On the floor of the car, a pair of scuffed heels lay, abandoned. Toes curling, Hanji’s bare foot pressed the dark pedal into the floor.

Levi, knees braced against the seat, leaned out the window. Serene, save for a slight curling of his lips, he dipped his head, gray eyes narrowing. Around the trigger, his finger curled. The muzzle of the gun flashed, horrendously bright.

Headlights glared, and one of the cars behind them swerved.

Yanking the wheel, Hanji veered right, giving Levi a clear shot.

He took it.

The driver slumped, and the car careened to the side. It struck a lamp post with a scream of folding metal.

The other car, briefly caught behind the crashed vehicle, stalled.

Engine roaring, she turned onto a side road - and then another. Quickly, before they could catch up, she maneuvered the car into an alley. Between narrow brick walls, it was dark and quiet. Round, glowing headlights illuminated the narrow path to the street on the other side.

“Kill the engine and lights,” Levi said.

She did.

Her ears rang from the sudden absence of noise.

Silent, they sat in the dark.

In the distance, she could make out the sound of a car engine - maybe two.

It was the smart move - hiding. The Lower East Siders could very well have backup coming. And outrunning them - even at this time of night - would be no easy task. Nonetheless, waiting in silence - listening for the slightest sound of an approaching vehicle, was hell.

Staring into the darkness, Hanji drew slow, deep breaths.

It was dark - dark like the cupboard. No - darker even than that. Dark like that waiting room at the courthouse, when all of the lights shut off, and the low voice had whispered at her ear -

Abandoning her hold on the wheel, she reached across to the passenger seat. Her hand bumped against him, and before she had the chance to change her mind, warm, rough fingers brushed the back of her hand. She turned her palm up, and then his fingers were intertwining with her own. In the dark, he held tight to her.

“Didn’t know you could drive like that.” His voice was a low murmur.

She huffed a quiet breath. “Neither did I.”

A long pause, and then his thumb was moving, rubbing circles on the back of her hand.

“You’re okay?” he asked. “Nothing hit you?”

She shook her head, and then remembered that it would be difficult to see in the dark. “No. I’m alright. You?”

“Fine.”

“How long should we wait, do you think?”

“Give it another twenty minutes,” he answered. “I can still hear them circling.”

She could hear them too.

Distantly, an engine rumbled. The sound would increase and then soften, before increasing again. She imagined the car puttering about, circling the neighborhood.

 _In fact_  - she paused, tilting her head.

“I hear it too,” he said, tense in the darkness. “There’s another car out there somewhere.”

It could be party-goers, returning from a club or house party, but she didn’t think so. The engine was quiet, as if the car were being driven slowly and deliberately. Like it was searching too.

They waited, and as they sat, silent in the car, both engines grew steadily louder. 

Levi released her hand, and she heard the gun click in the darkness.

She sat up, placing one hand on the wheel and the other on the ignition crank. Should they need to flee, it would take a moment to get the car started. A moment might be too long when the Lower East Siders started firing.

Hanji squeezed the crank, torn between starting the car now or later. If she started it now, the gangsters would be alerted to their presence. But if she waited, the gangsters might find them anyway, and she and Levi would be target practice while they waited for the engine to start up.

At the other end of the alleyway, headlights flashed.

Hanji threw up a hand, squinting into the glare.

Somewhere behind them, a car still searched.

As she blinked, the car came into focus.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

It wasn’t the Lower East Side Mob.

On the other end of the alley, a black and gold embossed police car rolled toward them. It stopped just inside the alleyway, and a tinny, megaphone enhanced voice called out.

“ _Ackermans, come out with your hands up!_ ”

Hanji’s hand twitched on the ignition.

Levi, who’d turned back toward the front of the car, froze. His gun hovered, raised and ready to fire.

Hanji blinked and saw Nanaba as she’d looked in the cafe, eyes downcast and voice broken, recalling the officers - their friends - who had been killed.

The cops in front of them could be more of Nanaba and Mike’s friends. Hell, it wasn’t out of the question to think Nanaba and Mike could be in that very car. They sometimes went along on patrols.

“ _Don’t shoot,_ ” Hanji said between clenched teeth.

Unwilling to turn from the cops, Levi glanced toward her. He was washed out, bathed in the headlight’s harsh white beams.

“I avoid killing cops, Hanji. I do. But these assholes are two seconds away from lighting up the car.”

“I know you were there. When those cops died, Levi.”

He tensed. “I didn’t do that. It was Kenny.”

Hanji looked at him. He’d glanced away from the police, and was looking at her, eyes wide.

“ _You have ten seconds! Out with your hands up! Now!_ ”

Levi wrenched the gun up, blinking against the bright light. The silver in his eyes flashed like cold steel.

_“Ten.”_

Somewhere behind them, the roar of another engine was growing louder.

_“Nine.”_

Hanji pictured Mike in the passenger seat, his own gun lifted. Nanaba sitting in the back, leaning between the two front seats. They might not even be able to see in Levi’s car, with the reflection of the lights in the glass. They’d have no idea they were aiming at their friend. They’d have no idea Levi was about to fire on them.

_“Eight.”_

Her friends weren’t in that car. They  _probably_  weren’t. But they might be.

“Don’t shoot. Levi,  _please_.”

_“Seven.”_

Levi readjusted his grip on the gun, a muscle in his jaw working.

_“Six.”_

_“Levi.”_

_“Five.”_

Breathing a curse, he dropped the gun and dove across the seat, violently twisting the ignition crank. As the engine woke, sputtering damningly loud in the alley, he grabbed her shoulders, dragging her down.

The front windshield exploded. Hunched over, glass fell on her back like hail.

Bullets flew into the car,  _thwacking_  with terrible precision against the leather seats.

And then the engine was awake, roaring.

Ducked low, Levi rolled aside as she reached for the gear shift.

Bracing her foot on the pedal, she yanked the car into reverse.

Another volley of bullets seared the air, and Hanji cringed, ducking low as she slapped her foot down. Tires screaming, the car burst into motion. Bracing her hand against the torn up passenger seat, she bent, glancing over her shoulder as she forced the wheel steady.

Above the sound of gunfire was another engine roaring. As they barreled backwards, mirrors clipping brick, the police car followed, speeding through the narrow space.

Bullets struck the front of the car with a series of hard metallic clangs. One made it through the window and hissed through the air, just above her. Levi’s hard hand pushed her head down.

Blindly, they barreled out of the alley.

As they shot into the street, she glimpsed headlights -

The back of their car crashed into another car, a brutal crush of metal and glass.

The Lower East Sider’s car spun, propelled by the impact.

Dragging herself up, Hanji yanked the gear shift as Levi swore, grabbing for his gun.

The Lower East Siders, blinked at them through partially shattered windows, dazed. One of them though, realized the situation before the others, and heaved up a pump action shotgun.

Levi got off the first shot.

As the dead man’s companions grabbed for their weapons, Hanji threw the car into motion. Engine growling, she held tight to the wheel as the battered car barreled down the street.

In the rearview mirror, she saw the cop car emerge from the alley. At the sight, the gangsters turned their guns. The cops fired first. The Lower East Sider’s car got the same treatment as theirs. The only difference was, the gangsters hadn’t had time to duck.

As they sped down the road, Hanji saw dark figures emerge from the patrol car. A man had stumbled out of the gangster’s vehicle, and was taking heaving, stumbling steps away. One of the officer’s guns lit and the gangster crumpled.

Hanji wrenched the wheel, turning them down a side street. Turning again, they sped down another, and then another. And then they were passing a restaurant district. And then they passed the docks.

Levi directed her to park in a lot not far from her apartment. A dumping ground, he called it. The Ackerman’s people would pick the car up. Get rid of the evidence.

When the car powered off, they sat for a moment in silence.

Blinking, she leaned back against the ruined headrest. “Holy shit.”

Breathing a rough laugh, she turned to look at Levi, because she couldn’t believe they’d actually -

Half out of his seat, Levi closed the distance between them. Warm, solid hands cupped her face as he kissed her.

They’d kissed before.

Those kisses were not like this.

Much in the same way that someone who’d lived all their life on an inland stretch of countryside might think a lake a large body of water, perhaps even majestic in its expansiveness, Hanji had found their past, passionate kisses pleasurable - exciting.

Here, surrounded by broken glass, his hands trembled as he held her, and when he sucked a shuddering breath, lips reluctant to break from hers, even for a moment, she held him, and her heartbeat was a resounding beat keeping time, with something  _something_ that hummed within her, and somewhere deep in her chest, she _ached_.

Against her lips, heaved a short breath. “Fuck it,” he said, voice husky. And then his hands were cupping her jaw, his calloused thumbs clumsily stroking her cheeks. He pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. “If I asked you to, would you get out of town, Hanji? Would you get on the next train?”

Looking into his gray eyes, she ached, she ached, she  _ached_ , because she was still that girl. Trapped in a cupboard. In a dark room awaiting a sham trial.

“No,” she whispered, and it was like the crunch of broken glass on the floor beneath them.

His brows drew together, and the creases between them were a language she hadn’t yet learned to read. And then he was kissing her, and it was soft and hard - an amalgamation of so many impossible things.

“Okay,” he said, and kissed her again. “Okay.” Hands holding, stroking her, he leaned into her, lightly bumping heads with her in the darkness. “Then - I’m with you.”

She closed her eyes, wondering how such exquisite happiness could exist at once with such pain. Leaning into him, she clutched at the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, felt the warmth beneath.

Against his skin, she murmured, “I can’t - I can’t-”

_-give you everything._

_-stop this, I’ve come too far._

_-promise you I’ll survive to the end of all this._

He kissed her, and it was gentle, and excruciating, and  _everything_. The difference between a lake and an ocean.

 _Even so_ , he seemed to say.

Like waves, pressed up from infinite depths, crashing ashore with terrifying power and grace, he kissed her, and confessed:

_Even so,_

“You have me. You have me.”

Squeezing her eyes closed, she leaned into him, overwhelmed with feeling.

In the quiet, broken car, they pressed together.

As if in defiance of the world, he asked, breaking the silence, “Can I stay? Tonight?”

Equally defiant, she answered him.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....and that's why I had to split this chapter and the last into two separate chapters. Because it was A LOT.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeyo I'm back! And I bring with me a hell of a wild ride. Enjoy!

The sound of knocking roused her.

It wasn’t the polite rap of knuckles, but rather, the frenzied pounding of a fist against wood.

She’d been half-asleep, lulled by the sound of soft, slow breaths and the warm body pressed against her back. Over her waist, his arm draped, a soothing weight.

At the first rousing knock, his arm had tightened, reflexively squeezing. By the second, Levi was out of bed, covers strewn behind him.

His movement had her scrambling up, reaching for her glasses.

Dragging on his pants, Levi looked to her, brows lifting in silent question.

_Expecting visitors?_

_Not today._  She shook her head.

His gun had been left on the end table, within easy reach. Now, Levi snatched it up, flicking off the safety with a practiced ease. His gaze was intent on the door. Gun at the ready, he stalked, bare feet padding silently across the wooden floor.

Pulling on a shirt, she grabbed the first weapon within reach - a knife she’d tucked beneath her mattress. Clutching the hilt in a white-knuckled grip, she shivered, and wondered if Fritz had finally found her.

Her flat was small enough that she had a clear view of Levi’s back as he sidled up to the door. Holding his gun in one hand, he pressed up against the wall. Without pause, he unlocked and opened the door, yanking it back.

He whipped up his gun, aiming and -

Farlan stood in the doorway, fist raised mid knock. He registered the gun first. Blanching, he went still. “ _Easy,_ ” he said, loosening his fists and displaying his open palms.

Swearing beneath his breath, Levi immediately lowered the weapon.

_Farlan. Not Fritz._

Dropping the knife, she sank back onto the bed.

“Farlan, why are you here?” Levi said, his voice flat and hard.

Regaining his composure with an effortlessness which bespoke of how often he must stare down barrels of guns, Farlan sauntered inside. “Well. This is new,” he drawled, taking in the clothes scattered about the room, their combined states of undress, the recently abandoned bed.

“Kenny sent me to find you,” Farlan admitted. “Took me ages though. Checked your usual places first. Not like you to stay overnight in an unsecured location.” He looked past Levi, to her. His gaze was cold and assessing.

“You found me. Get to the fucking point.”

“The Lower East Side Mob attacked Marcus ...and his family.”

Levi swore.

Hanji straightened, “Are they…’

“Dead. Yeah,” Farlan finished, voice flat.

Marcus Ewell was one of Kenny’s upper level lackeys. She didn’t really know him, but she knew _of_  him. He hadn’t been the friendliest, but she doubted his family had anything to do with his business with the Ackermans. Yet the Lower East Siders had slaughtered them all the same.

Pressing a hand to her temple, Hanji closed her eyes.

“Kenny’s going after some of the Lower East Siders’ people,” Farlan continued. “Blood for blood, and all that.”

Levi’s lip curled. “Fucking let him. Maybe this time the asshole won’t come back.”

“...he took Mikasa with him.”

Hanji’s eyes snapped open. Stomach clenching, she looked to Levi.

He’d frozen. 

Finally, he blinked, and his fingers twitched. Slowly, his hands closed, tightening into hard, white-knuckled fists.

“ _When?_ ”

“‘Bout an hour ago.”

“ _An hour ago?_  Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I couldn’t find you!”

Pressing a hand over his eyes, Levi spit a curse.

“You going or what? They were heading for the apartments south of the tracks. You still might catch up.”

At that, Levi turned, his cool gaze seeking her. His face had taken on a pallid hue, and indecision was written in the curve of his brow, the thin press of his lips.

“Go,” she said, unhesitating, “I’ll handle the meeting with Burns.”

Levi’s fists clenched - then released. Like a flip had been switched, he strode across the room, snatching up his shirt and shoving his feet into his shoes.

“We can meet up. Tonight,” Hanji added, and when she rose from the bed, long legs bare, Farlan averted his gaze. As Levi roughly drew on his jacket, she found a pair of pants.

She was doing up the buttons, when a touch against her elbow drew her gaze up.

Levi watched her, eyes dark - heavy with an emotion she wasn’t ready to decipher. His hand slid up her arm, and when his calloused fingers brushed her neck, cradling the back of her head, she leaned into him. 

His lips touched hers, and for a moment, it was night again - and he was holding her, working the zipper on her dress as they fell into bed. Hands splayed over his chest, she’d climbed over him, knees sinking into the mattress as his fingers sank into her thighs and -

\- this was different. The contrast drew her back to the present. His thumb traced the patch of skin beneath her ear as his lips pressed against hers, caressing, careful. Not a conflagration, but a deep, molten heat.

And somehow, that mattered.

The thought scared her more than she liked to admit.

Hands against his chest, she pressed him back. “Go.”

“Don’t fucking die,” he said.

_As if she were in any position to make that promise._

She made it, nonetheless.

He strode through the door, stopping only when Farlan turned to follow. A firm hand against his friend’s chest stopped him.

“You’re with Hanji. Watch her back.”

Farlan’s face screwed up, but then Levi was grabbing him by the shoulder, dragging him closer. Leaning in, Levi said something else, his voice pitched low.

Farlan stiffened, going still.

The hand at his shoulder squeezed.

At the touch, Farlan’s shoulders slumped, the stiffness draining from them. He nodded once.

Hanji watched the interaction with interest, curious as to what had been shared. She wondered if, perhaps, she might get it out of Farlan later, since he was going to be joining her. It was unlikely, however, since he didn’t seem to trust her.

And then Levi was gone.

As the door swung closed, Farlan turned to her, arms crossed and shoulders stiff once more.

“The meeting’s not until twelve, so…” she said, rubbing her hands, “Breakfast?”

Tilting his head back, Farlan closed his eyes. His answer was delivered at the tail end of a long, deep sigh. “Fine.”

* * *

 

Historia was trapped. Or as her maid, Hilda, liked to put it,  _confined_   _to the estate._

Rod had been apoplectic in the aftermath of her disappearance, nevermind that she’d been gone less than an hour. Apart from the occasional publicity event, and the  _direct_ , no-stops trip there and back, she was _confined_.

The punishment was to extend indefinitely, or so Rod had shouted, spittle flying, his round face going purple and puffy with anger.

He’d thought she’d finally run away, she realized later.

Not that he’d worried about her. No, in his mind, he’d narrowly avoided a public relations nightmare, she was sure.

After the initial confrontation, he hadn’t spoken to her - hadn’t looked at her even. Other than in front of the cameras, of course.

She was on her way back from her first public appearance since the grounding, tucked like a prisoner between Ed and Hilda, as if they didn’t trust her not to fling herself from the moving car.

In the backseat, they sat shoulder to shoulder, packed like the tins of sardines Rod had specially shipped from the Mediterranean. She remembered watching him eat them, fat fingers scooping at pickled flesh. Silver bodies glistening and black, bulging eyes staring sightlessly ahead, they’d disappeared, viciously broken beneath gnashing teeth as soon as they passed his pouting lips.

In the car, the curtains had been drawn on either window. A sliver of light shone through beneath. She could just make out flashes of color.

A world close enough to touch, yet so far out of reach.

Ed was sweating and Hilda fidgeting, and Historia, chest tight and aching, found it suddenly hard to breathe.

They were only ten minutes into what would be a thirty minute return trip, when inexplicably, the car began to slow.

At her side, Ed straightened. Pulling back the curtain, he glanced outside before scooting forward to knock on the partition that divided the front of the car from the rear. A hatch opened, and Historia caught a glimpse of their mustached driver swearing as he turned the wheel.

“Gil?” Ed questioned.

“Engine’s smoking, sir.”

It was Ed’s turn to curse.

As the car shuddered to a stop, Hilda patted a restless hand over her graying hair. “Can we wait in the car then?”

Historia stared at her, incredulous. “Hilda. It’s on fire.”

“Right,” Ed snapped. “We’re getting out. Historia, stay close.”

And then they were shuffling out, sardines temporarily spared their torture.

As her satin shoes stepped onto discolored brick, Historia sucked in a relieved breath. Tilting her head back, she squinted and let the sun fall on her face.

From beneath the hood, dark smoke spewed. When Gil opened it, it poured out, like a volcano on the verge of erupting. And then Ed was tearing off his jacket, using the heavy material to suffocate the flames.

Hilda cried out, holding her hands to her chest as she watched.

A crowd was gathering around the scene, and Historia found herself jostled and pushed. A woman was shouting for the fire department. Someone else shoved past to run for help. As Historia stepped back, intent on getting out of the way, a hand closed over her wrist.

She didn’t think to scream. Even when she was yanked into the crowd.

She was stumbling back, slipping past strangers, when she caught sight of hazel eyes, freckles, and a wry, dangerous grin.

“Ymir,” she breathed.

Ymir wore a jumper and a knit cap pulled low. Her dark hair, pulled into a low ponytail, pressed against her neck.

Winking, Ymir gave her wrist a squeeze and said, “Hurry up. We’ve got to move quickly if we’re gonna give them the slip.”

Historia pulled her arm from Ymir’s grip and replaced it with her hand.

Ymir glanced down, cheeks flushing red.

“Where are we going?”

“Just a day trip. You gotta get out of the house more often, short stuff.”

“A day trip?”

“I’ll have you back by nightfall. Your beefy guard will only have a few hours to get his panties in a twist.”

Nightfall. Only a few hours away.

_It wasn’t long enough_ , she fought back despair.  _Not even close._

When she closed her eyes, she saw the dark car, and the cold, sunless mansion that awaited her.

Throwing her head back, Historia stared up at blue sky, and found herself wishing she could fall into it. Ymir’s hand, wrapped around hers, guided her.

“Okay,” she said, speaking to the sky. “Take me on a day trip, Ymir.”

Rod would kill her.

_Let him_ , a rebellious part of her thought.

It was a pitiful existence anyway, squeezed so tight in that little metal box.

* * *

 

Levi leapt the railroad tracks, gravel flying as he skidded down the embankment. 

He’d taken a car as far as the Pike Street cul de sac. From there, the trip was on foot.

The apartments were south of the tracks. It was a tired, run-down part of the city, home to gangsters, thieves, whores, and the like.

Levi didn’t have intel as to the specific location of the hit. Not that it mattered. He could already hear the commotion up ahead.

His steps slowed as he reached the apartment block; instinct demanded he at least attempt to blend in. This wasn’t Ackerman territory. He couldn’t count on anyone coming to his aid here.

He saw the smoke first. Black and billowing, it rose above crumbling rooftops, a specter blocking out the sky.

At the corner, a crowd had gathered.

A unit in the complex spewed red and yellow flame.

On the sidewalk, and old woman wailed. Crumpled, she stretched a wrinkled, trembling hand toward the destruction. Amidst her wails and moans, a few words took form.

_My daughter - my Emmaline._

_Her husband._

_The baby._

Levi swayed back on his feet.

They’d taken hits out on rival gangsters before. But this - this was heinous. The Lower East Siders might do this shit, but not the Ackermans.

The apartment groaned, collapsing in on itself as flames burst toward the sky.

Kenny - and Mikasa,  _god_  - were long gone. Levi turned, shoving back through the crowd. The last thing he heard was the woman’s keening wail.

* * *

 

Hanji balanced a take-out container in one hand and a coffee in the other. 

Farlan, hands shoved in his pockets, strolled at her side.

“You really going to take food and coffee to a high stakes meetup?”

She took a deep swig of coffee before answering. “I had leftovers, Farlan. I’m not going to just throw them away.”

In the quiet that followed, she decided to reassure him, of one thing at least.

“I know you and Levi are close.” Taking another sip, she added, “You should know, I have no intention of hurting him.”

For a long moment, the roar of traffic was the only sound between them.

Finally, Farlan sighed and said, “Just cause you don’t intend it, doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen.”

“Yeah, well everything in this damn city hurts,” she muttered. “Sometimes you’ve got to decide what’s worth the pain.”

“Are you? Worth it.”

“How should I know? Ask Levi.”

Steps slowing, Farlan looked at the ground. When he looked up, his gaze was cold and considering.

“Look, I don’t fucking know you. I get that you’ve got your own baggage, and hell if I have any idea what it is. All I know is, you’re single minded. Destructive. Whatever happens, you’re not gonna stop. And Levi - he’s going to cut himself up on you.”

Hanji took a long swig of coffee. It was too hot and burned her throat all the way down.

Maybe if that morning had gone as it should have, things would be different now. But she was on a set course. She’d survived until this point because she’d had a single goal. One thing to which she could cling. And now, there was no letting go.

She wasn’t worried about Levi. He was smart. He’d let go of her well before any harm came to him. Of that, she was sure.

“Let’s find Burns,” she finally answered, her voice cool. “I want to get this over with.”

Farlan shoved his hands back in his pockets and dipped his head. “Something we can agree on.”

When they arrived, precisely at noon, the park was empty.

Silent.

The back of her neck prickled, goosebumps rising along her skin.

Even the birds had gone quiet.

Farlan stood straight, frowning as he scanned the abandoned space. He stopped, lifting a hand to keep her back. “Something’s wrong.” Pulling a gun from his jacket, he stepped onto the grass.

Hanji followed, pushing her glasses up as she scanned the area, looking for movement.

She saw it first. The dark shoe poking out from behind the low shrub.

She reached out without conscious thought, gripping Farlan’s arm in warning.

When they rounded the bush, they found him, splayed out and pale.

Burns’ torso was flayed.

Covering his mouth, Farlan swore.

Coffee and takeout slipped from her fingers as she dropped to her knees. The dirt was damp, soaked with blood. Fingers shaking, she pressed up under his jaw.

“The poor bastard’s a goner. If he’s not dead already, he will be soon,” Farlan muttered above her.

As she pulled her hand back, Burns stiffened and wheezed. His eyes snapped open. They rolled up and around, bulging and animalistic in their fear.

When his eyes landed on her, they stilled.

His brows drew together, and then his mouth was opening and closing, like a fish out of water.

“Burns,” Hanji managed, her voice pitched low. “Who did this? Was it Zackly? Fritz?”

Burns’ throat bobbled, and he croaked a single world.

“Wanda.”

Holding his shoulder, Hanji leaned in. “Wanda?”

His eyes clenched closed, tears leaking from the corners. “Wanda,” he repeated. “Find….her.”

“Okay. We will. We will,” she assured him. “But Burns, please,  _who did this to you?_ ”

His pale eyes opened, taking her in. Against bloodied teeth, his tongue worked, struggling to move.

“Monsters,” he finally managed, a rasp. “All of them.” His eyes glistened. “....takes a monster to kill a monster, ya know?,” he said, and heaved a stuttering breath. “You...prepared to watch the city burn?” And then he was cackling, tears streaming down his face. Halfway through a cackling cough, he froze, shuddering. Pale eyes stared up, unblinking.

Stomach rolling, Hanji stared down. For a horrible moment, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from his vacant gaze.

Farlan swore quietly, turning on his heel.

Pressing her hand over Burns eyes, she closed them. Without the weight of his gaze, she could again move, and stood, shoving up from the bloodied grass. “We need to leave. Now.”

Farlan held his gun at his side. With his free hand, he roughly pushed back his hair.

“Fritz or Zackly had Burns killed. I’m sure of it,” she said. “They must have discovered a meeting was arranged. Farlan, we may have just stepped into a trap.”

Farlan tilted his head, scanning the surrounding area. The hand holding his gun twitched. “Agreed. We need to go.”

Farlan, apparently taking Levi’s orders to heart, waited until she was at his side before cautiously stalking ahead.

Half of her mind was forging ahead, clinging to the one clue they’d unearthed in this mess. _Wanda._

The other half - well - it bade her take a final look back at the body lying in the grass. And she was struck by the uncomfortable notion that the sight was becoming all too familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, we're at the start of like a five chapter rising action sequence. aka shit's really starting to hit the fan.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY finished this one - and I think it may be the longest chapter yet?

The fire escape trembled beneath two sets of shoes - boots, then satin flats - pounding over rusting, metal stairs.

“God damn, you’re slow,” Ymir groaned, and grabbed Historia’s hand, dragging her faster.

“Shut up, I have short legs,” Historia gasped, clutching at her side.

“Nah, probably just need to get out more.”

“Are - you - saying I’m - out of - shape?” Historia huffed, stumbling up a stair.

“Oh absolutely.”

“ _Ymir_.”

“Oh my god, hurry up, we’re gonna miss it.”

“I’m trying-” 

Historia’s foot missed a step, and the next stair was curved, broken. She heaved a panicked breath as she toppled forward.

A solid grip caught her arm, hauling her back before she could fall.

Ymir pulled her up. And then long arms were around her - lifting, holding. Her face pressed against a scratchy wool sweater.

Ymir, bracing a boot on the crooked stair, pressed back against the brick building, well away from the fire escape’s edge.

Historia, cheek brushing against the warm sweater, slowly tilted her head back.

Ymir bent, curving around her, and when Historia turned her head up, she found their noses were nearly touching.

Beneath her low cap, Ymir's eyes were dark and wide.

“Hey Ymir,” Historia breathed.

“Yeah, short-stuff?”

Where they pressed against her back, Ymir’s hands shivered once. And when Ymir heaved a long, slow breath, Historia felt it against her lips.

Clenching at Ymir's shirt, Historia leaned forward, pressing up on her toes and -

Warm hands caught her face, cradling and - stopping her.

“Come on,” Ymir said, her voice low, little more than a whisper. “We can’t miss it  _now_.”

“You have the worst timing Ymir,” Historia said, looking from her dark eyes down to her curved lips.

“Yeah, yeah.” And then Ymir was pulling away from her, face down-turned. Beneath the cap, her eyes were in shadow.

She wasn’t disappointed.  _She wasn’t_. Historia repeated it to herself again for good measure.

Coming to terms with her attraction to Ymir had been exhilarating - then sobering. It wasn’t as though she had experience with any of this. Who knew if she was even reading the signs correctly?  _Were there even signs to be read?_

Turning back to her, Ymir held out her hand.

Historia took it without thinking. And when she did, Ymir’s fingers enfolded hers, firm and warm.

Preoccupied with the press of Ymir’s callouses against her skin - she nearly missed the final step up onto the roof.

They crested the roof as the sun sank low on the horizon.

Their steps across the rooftop were a symphony of cracking glass. The edge of the roof was marked by a small lip, and below, the city sank into shadow.

Beyond the sunken rooftops of the Harbortown homes, the harbor water glowed red and orange, as if it had been set aflame.

“Oh Ymir,” Historia breathed, something tight and anxious in her chest loosening at the sight.

“Told ya you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“No. This is...really nice Ymir,” Historia said, looking up. “Thank you.”

Ymir looked down at her, then looked away, flushing lightly.

Historia sighed and leaned against her as the sun sank lower. Night was nearly upon them. 

Rod’s mansion awaited.

Out on the town with Ymir, she hadn’t felt like Historia Reiss, daughter, heiress...puppet. Holding hands as they strolled down the crowded street, she’d felt like, well, a girl on a date.

For a few hours, at least, it had been nice to pretend.

“You’ve got a lot of stress, huh?”

“Me?”

“No, I’m talking to the trash pile over there - yes of course I’m talking about you.”

Historia stuck out her tongue.

Ymir moved to pinch it.

Sucking in a surprised gasp, Historia squealed and jumped back, swatting at the reaching hand.

Chuckling, Ymir relented. Licking her lips, she looked from Historia to the cityscape below. 

“Sometimes when I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed myself, I come up here and, uh - scream,” Ymir said, gesturing vaguely at the open space before them. “I thought maybe you could give it a try, if you want.”

“You brought me up here to make me scream?” Historia questioned.

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Ymir flushed, turning away. “Oh my god, don’t say it like that.”

Grinning, Historia stepped up to the edge.

“And don’t go that close to the edge!  _Jesus_ , you’re so stressful.”

“So I just sort of - _Ahhhhh_?” Historia attempted a strangled shout.

“Is that really all you got? Seriously?” Ymir laughed. “Put all of that repressed,” she vaguely waved, “ _whatever_  in it. Really scream.”

Frowning, Historia turned back to the quiet city below. From up here, it looked barren. Empty. It was easy to imagine that Ed, Hilda, and the various Ackerman guards who watched her day in and day out didn’t exist.

Maybe she could take it a step further. Imagine that Rod didn’t exist either. What would her life be like then?

Peaceful. Free. Happy.

Watching the sun sink, disappearing below the shimmering water, was a painful reminder of how soon she’d have to return to her keepers.

Clenching her fists, Historia curled her satin-wrapped toes around the roof’s edge and screamed.

The shout echoed mournfully between the distant buildings.

Historia watched the sun dip down. Her fists shook.

Boots crunched over glass, but Historia didn’t hear them. Tears welling in her eyes, she watched the sun become a sliver.

Sucking in a deep breath, she screamed to the distant city below, “I  _hate my father!_ ” Fists opening and closing at her sides, she leaned forward and screamed again. “I wish his stupid mansion would  _burn to the ground!_ ”

Heaving another breath, she screwed up her face. Heat prickled behind her eyelids. “I’m never alone.  _Why can’t they just leave me alone?!_ ” The shout devolved into a wordless noise of rage. Trembling fingers clutched at the sides of her dress - her _perfect_ dress and she clenched her teeth. “ _Why doesn’t dad love me?_ ”

Her cheeks were wet and it felt as though her whole body was shaking. It took her a moment to realize her dress was yanked tight over her front. The fabric in the back was gathered, clutched in a fist. Ymir’s other hand was at Historia’s side, holding tight to her forearm.

“Easy,” Ymir breathed. “You’re real close to the edge there, short-stuff.”

“Oh,” Historia said, glancing down. “I want to come down now.”

“Alright,” Ymir said, her voice soft and low. “Just step back. I got you.”

She stepped back, and true to her word, Ymir lifted her off the lip, settling her carefully back on the flat portion of roof.

Historia wiped at her cheek, looking dully at the glass shards that littered the roof. Regret gathered, a bitter taste in the back of her throat. 

“I - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that.”

Silence gathered around them. Historia thought she might choke on it.

But then calloused hands were pressing on either side of her face, gently tilting her head up. Ymir looked at her, brows drawn together, lips parted in - was it shock? Sympathy?

“Don’t apologize. Not for that. You shouldn’t have to bottle this crap up”

Historia looked up at her, and felt her lip begin to tremble. “I’m so sad, Ymir. All the time.”

The hands holding her twitched. Ymir stepped closer, gaze roving back and forth across her face. “How did someone like you come out of this shit hole?”

“Like me?”

“Good. Like, sickeningly good,” Ymir said, lips quirking in a half smile.

“I’m not-”

“When we met, you were literally rescuing orphans, so shut the hell up.”

Historia heaved a surprised laugh.

Ymir grinned. “There it is.”

“It’s getting dark, Ymir.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got to take me back.”

Ymir stilled, a muscle working in her jaw. Swallowing, she glanced away. For a long moment, she stared down, face in shadow.

When Ymir’s head lifted, her gaze was hard - settled.

“I do, yeah.”

Historia screwed up her lips.  _She would not cry._

“But tomorrow night, I’m coming back for you. And then we’re leaving. For good.”

Historia stared at her, mouth agape, and not quite able to understand what she was hearing.

“Ymir?”

“I’m sorry, it can’t be tonight. I need to...to get a few things in order. But it will all be settled by tomorrow. And then  _I’m coming for you_.”

“What?”

“I’m stealing you from your crap dad, princess.”

“Oh.” Historia blinked. “W-wait, are you serious Ymir? Because if you’re joking, please-”

Ymir’s fingers brushed over her face, and then she was cradling her head, fingers brushing the back of her neck. Bending, Ymir pressed her forehead against hers, and Historia felt her breath, trembling and soft. “I’m going to get you out here, if it’s the last thing I do. Historia.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Can - Can I kiss you?”

Even before she finished speaking, Historia was pressing up on her toes.

As the sky faded into shades of pink and purple, they kissed on the rooftop, broken glass beneath their feet.

* * *

 

When their cab jerked to a halt, Farlan twisted in his seat, surveying the street.

Hanji leaned past him, breath fogging the window.

“See anything?”

“Not anymore,” he said, rubbing at the fogged glass.

“This the right place?” The cab driver prompted. In the rear-view mirror, Hanji could see thick eyebrows glowering in impatience.

“Come on, Farlan. I doubt we were followed.”

They’d been deliberate in making their return trip meandering and illogical as possible. Hanji had even stopped by her favorite coffee shop with the second exit in the back, dragging Farlan through it’s smoky interior and immediately out the back. 

Besides, she reasoned, she and Farlan had been vulnerable at the park - out in the open, without cover. Attacking them there would have been easy. If someone had been lying in wait, they would have struck sooner rather than later. Tailing them would have been an unnecessary measure.

All the same, Farlan insisted on checking the office, just in case. And as they climbed the building’s stairs, Hanji tried to remember if Moblit, Armin, or Nifa were scheduled to be in the office that day.

In the hallway, Hanji hesitated before the locked door.

Farlan stood behind her, arms crossed and with his gun tucked in the waistband of his pants. He wasn’t as notorious as Levi, Mikasa, or Kenny, but he was reasonably well known. People knew of him, and a decent number knew his face.

Within the confines of the newspaper office, Hanji’s association with the Ackermans wasn’t a secret _exactly,_  but neither was it explicitly discussed. It was a fragile truth, acknowledged in the silences that danced between hints and vague references, too dangerous for casual conversation.

If Farlan walked through that door, he would be making tangible all they’d silently agreed to not speak of.

She should send him away - Levi’s orders be damned. Farlan had done enough anyway. There was no need to endanger Moblit, Armin, and the others with this knowledge.

“Farlan-”

“ _Hey!_ ”

Farlan twisted. Yanking the gun out of his waistband, he drew it up, aiming.

At the end of the hall, Moblit froze, one foot forward - a hand extended. Expression dark, he looked from the gun, to Farlan, and then to Hanji.

“Step away from her.  _Now_ ,” he said, straightening up. “I called the police already. They’ll be here in minutes. Run and you might have time to escape before they get here.”

Farlan cursed. “You-”

Very conscious of the gun pointed at her best friend, Hanji stepped around him. “Put that away, Farlan. He’s a friend.” Pressing on his arm, she forced the gun down. “And he obviously didn’t call the police. We just got here. He couldn’t possibly have had the time.”

“Hanji-”

“It’s fine, Moblit. He’s with me.”

From either end of the hall, the two men stared at each other down.

Hanji blew a breath. “Both of you. Inside. Now. Before anyone else walks by.”

They shared the building with a few other offices. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities that someone else could step into the hall. And they might actually call the police; she and Farlan certainly didn’t need that.

Armin, thankfully, was the only other person in the office, and he stood when they entered. Gaze flickering between Hanji, Moblit, and Farlan, his hand crept toward Hanji’s desk drawer - and the pistol tucked within.

“It’s okay, Armin. He’s a friend.”

He relaxed, dropping his arm.

Farlan, after throwing one last suspicious look in Moblit’s direction, set about inspecting the office.

Crossing his arms, Moblit watched Farlan’s meandering path around the office.

“You sure you’re alright?” Moblit asked, when he at last, reluctantly looked away from Farlan, who’d begun peering into narrow storage closets.

“Yes - er no. Honestly, I’m a little shaken. Not because of Farlan here though. I-” Hanji hesitated, voice trailing.

She hadn’t told Moblit about Burns and the potential evidence of Fritz and Zackly’s collusion. Nor had she told him of the meeting. On a practical level, she hadn’t had a chance, between returning home with Levi and leaving for the meeting with Farlan in the morning.

But...it would be a lie to say she’d planned on telling Moblit everything. He was her friend. Her oldest friend.

Of course he wanted to help her.

The less he knew, the better.

Now, however, he was looking at her. He’d caught her hesitation, and his heavy gaze pierced to her core. He’d always been uncommonly discerning. Able to see to the heart of her silences.

“Hanji.”

He wasn’t going to let it go. She could read that in the tilt of his head. The stubborn press of his lips.

She groaned.

“ _Hanji_.”

“Fine!”

Hands on her hips, she told him about the meeting with Kenny, the casino debacle, and the meetup with Burns.

By the time she was done, Moblit was opening and closing his mouth. He looked, she thought, rather unfortunately like a fish.

He sputtered, “Meeting with _Kenny Ackerman_  aside, you tried to have a casual chat with some random guy about the two most powerful men in this city trading illegal weapons? _Really Hanji?_  When were you planning on telling me about this?”

She held his gaze. “I said this was going to get bad Moblit. That wasn’t a joke. It’s why I wanted you to get out of town. As it is, you and Armin are already investigating crime rates with firearms. That information is dangerous enough as it is.”

“And I wasn’t joking when I told you that I’m here to stay. I’m your  _friend_ , Hanji,” Moblit said, gripping her arm. “You do have friends, you know. And we worry about you. Care about you. And maybe you don’t care if you turn up dead one day, but _we do_ , Hanji,” he finished, his voice low.

“I care.”

“Do you?”

Hanji stared.

 _Yes - well, of course? Right?_  

She wanted to live. She’d long ago acknowledged that revenge on Fritz and his ilk would have it’s price. She knew there would be personal cost to bringing these monsters to justice. And she’d made her price with paying it, steep as it may be.

It wasn’t as though she were seeking death, though she acknowledged it may very well be coming for her.

 _I do want to live_ , she thought, stubborn.

Though she had to admit, the idea of life at the end of all this had taken on a strange, fairy-tale quality. It was a nice thought. Good in theory. But the longer this continued, it seemed more and more impossible to imagine in any tangible way, a peaceful existence at the end of it all.

Too late, she realized she’d held her silence too long.

Moblit’s expression fell. The fingers at her arm trembled and tightened.

“Hanji.”

She turned, unable to meet his eyes. Looking at the floor, she swallowed.

“I care, Moblit,” she said, emphasizing each word.

“Sorry to break up this - whatever this is,” Farlan muttered, brushing past. “Everything looks good here.”

“No rogue officers or gangsters under the printing press?” Hanji snapped, feeling vulnerable, like the conversation with Moblit had scrubbed her raw.

A withering look was Farlan’s answer.

“...is there reason to believe there would be?” Armin said, quiet.

“I think Zackly and Fritz silenced an informant who had evidence about their illegal weapons deals,” Hanji sighed, bringing Armin up to speed. Moblit would have told him anyway.

“Oh,” Armin said, paling.

“Don’t worry,” Farlan said, and turned, flashing Armin a grin and a wink. “I checked the place from top to bottom. All good here.”

Hanji rolled her eyes as Moblit frowned.

“Good. Now you can go. We don’t want Ackerman protection,” Moblit said.

“My friend,” Farlan said, giving Armin a last look before turning his keen blue eyes on Moblit, “It’s a little late for that.”

Hanji sighed, “Just go, Farlan. Tell Levi I’m expecting him tonight.”

Two gazes flicked in her direction.

Farlan chuckled, flicking a mock salute. “Sure thing.”

Walking by her desk, he leaned over, turning a cursory glance over the street below. He froze.

“Hey,” he said, glancing up, accusing. “I thought you said he didn’t call the cops.”

“He didn’t,” Hanji said, looking to Moblit. “Moblit, tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t!” Moblit said, hands up. “It was just a bluff.”

Farlan looked affronted when Armin shoved him aside. Pressing his hands against the glass, Armin groaned. “It’s Eren - and he brought Mike along.”

“ _Who?_ ”

“Friends,” Armin answered then turned, addressing Hanji. “Eren’s probably just here for a visit. Mike’s been training him, so I assume he and Mike are both just stopping by mid-patrol to say hi.”

“ _God_ woman, you have such poor choices in friends,” Farlan muttered, glaring out the window.

“Tell me about it,” Moblit said, looking at Farlan.

“Farlan,” Hanji snapped. “ _Hide_.”

“Oh come on, you’re telling me they’re not even _dirty cops_? Where the hell am I even supposed to hide?”

Armin, grabbing Farlan’s arm, dragged him across the room.

From the hall, Hanji heard the distant sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs.

Armin opened a narrow supply closet.

Farlan stood stiff, gun in hand.

“Armin, keep him quiet. And for god’s sake, try to keep him from shooting anyone.”

Farlan narrowed his eyes. “What-”

Pressing a hand over Farlan’s mouth, Armin dragged him into the closet. The closet door jerked closed as the office door swung open.

Mike knocked on the door frame. “Hey, just coming to- _woah._ ” Mike halted at the threshold. “Who died?”

She and Moblit shared a split second glance.

Huffing a breath, Hanji shook her head, grabbing a stack of edits from her desk. “No one? Nice to see you too, Mike.”

“You look like shit, Hanji.”

“Wow. Thank you for that. It’s none of your business, but I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

And then Mike, eyebrows lifting, shot Hanji a curious look. “Don’t tell me-”

“What?” she asked, stiffening. Mentally, she ran through a list of all that he might have suspected - or discovered.

It was a long list.

“Nanaba thought so, but I thought she was totally full of it-”

“About  _what?_ ”

“Hanji Zoe, are you... getting some?” Mike asked, grinning.

Moblit coughed, choking.

Hanji opened her mouth - and snapped it closed.

“That’s really  _none of your fucking business_ , Mike.”

Mike guffawed, “Hanji! Good for you! I always say, the best solution for stress, and believe me,  _you’ve got stress_ , is a good d-”

“Mister Zacharias!” Eren interrupted, voice strangled.

Eren, dressed in police blue, peered around Mike, ears aflame.

“Yeah Eren?”

“Sorry, just - is Armin here?” Eren said, stepping around Mike to address Hanji. “We were stopping in to see if you guys wanted to go to a jazz club later - after we get off work.”

“Ah, well he’s not here now. But I’ll let him know about the club.”

“You want to go, Hanji? Moblit?” Mike added.

Hanji was hesitant to accept - given the, at this point, multiple people who likely wanted her dead. But she wondered if she might learn anything from Mike and Nanaba about Zackly. And besides, she missed her friends.

“Maybe,” she finally answered. “We’ve got some work to do, but if we finish early we’ll come. The usual place?”

“Yep,” And Mike added, lips twitching, “I should warn you, I am going to tell Nanaba about the new development in your dating life, and she will have questions.”

“You two need to find more scintillating topics of conversation.”

“Well, work’s shit right now, so like it or not, you’re the most uplifting topic we’ve got.”

“Everything okay at the station?”

Mike shrugged. “The Ackerman operation was a bust. The bastards were tipped off. Which wasn’t good for Erwin’s reputation.”

Hanji breathed through the guilt that sank like a weight against her chest.

The fallout couldn’t be helped, she reasoned. Countless would have died, on both sides if she hadn’t warned the Ackermans.

“And both the Lower East Side and the Ackerman gangs have been in rare form lately. Violent crimes are off the charts. Two families were murdered since just yesterday”

“Shit,” Hanji said, thinking of Marcus and his family. If his was the first family, the second was -

Likely the work of the Ackermans.

Mikasa.

Hanji’s stomach sank, thinking of the fear etched on Levi’s normally stoic face when he’d left that morning.

Hanji hoped this cousin was okay.

“Yeah, and with the violence comes missing people. We’ve been working our assess off taking statements alone. We’ve had two today already, and-” Mike hesitated, looking to Eren. “Wait - when’s our next house call? Are we late?”

Eren dug a notepad from his breast pocket. “Um, three o'clock with,” he squinted, “that Burns woman. Wanda. Brother disappeared sometime last night.” 

_No way._

Hanji stared, aghast, looking back and forth between Mike and Eren.

Wanda. Wanda  _Burns._

Mike was nodding. “She’s our last for the day?”

“Think so,” Eren frowned, paging through the notepad.

Hanji cut a glance at Moblit.

“Ah Moblit,” she said, digging her elbow into his side. “Didn’t you have some questions for Mike? That article your writing right now actually has a lot to do with those missing persons cases. What an opportunity!”

Moblit, who was rubbing at his side, frowned at her in question. When he met her gaze, however, he straightened in realization. “Sure, erm - yes! Mike, could I trouble you to answer a few questions? I won’t quote you directly. We can keep your contribution anonymous, of course.”

Mike agreed, easily enough.

Hanji snagged Eren before he could follow. Throwing an arm over his shoulders, she grinned. “Eren! I’ve got a project you can help me with!”

“Um, sure?” Eren said, giving her a strange look.

Dragging the rookie across the room, Hanji stepped up to the hulking printing press. There, she grabbed his wrist, making a show of measuring the length of his arm.

“Hm,  _yes_ ,” she hummed, “Your arms should be long enough.”

“...for what?”

“The jam, Eren! Some paper got stuck deep in the underbelly of the machine, and so far, no one here’s been able to get it out.”

“And you want  _me_  to try?”

“Yes,” she said, slapping his shoulder. “I think you’ve got just the reach we need.”

“...okay? Sure. I can try.”

“Excellent!” she crowed.

As Eren knelt before the machine, she grabbed him by the arm. “Ah - wait. Are you wearing something under that?” She gestured to his crisp blue police shirt. “I don’t want you to get ink on it. It’s really impossible to get out.”

“Oh - uh, yeah,” Eren said, blushing. When he removed the button-up shirt, Hanji took it from him, setting it carefully on a nearby chair.

In his undershirt, he knelt down. Titling his head, he peered into the underbelly of the machine.

“You’ll have to lay on your back and slide under,” Hanji directed.

As soon as Eren lay flat, wriggling under the press, Hanji glanced up, looking to Moblit and Mike. Moblit leaned over his desk, motioning at papers on the table. Hand on Mike’s back, Moblit pressed him forward to look at something, angling him away from Hanji.

 _Good._ Moblit had an idea of what she wanted.

“Uh - where is the jam?” Eren called, his voice muffled.

“Find the long cylinder and the gears on either side of it. It’s above the one on the left.”

As she spoke, Hanji grabbed Eren’s abandoned shirt. Plucking the notepad from the pocket, she checked to make sure Mike was still occupied before flipping through the pages.

“I don’t see anything, Hanji,” Eren said.

“Look a little higher,” Hanji called, distractedly scanning for the name.

“Is it just regular newspaper paper? I don’t see anything.”

“Um, check the other gear then.”

 _There._ Wanda’s name, written in Eren’s messy scrawl stared up at her. Grabbing a pen off a nearby table, Hanji copied the woman’s address on an abandoned sheet of copy-edits.

Eren’s knees bent as he twisted, wiggling out from beneath the machine.

Flipping the booklet closed, Hanji slipped it back in the pocket. And as Eren ducked his head out from beneath the paper press, a smudge of ink on the side of his nose, she crumpled the scratch paper, shoving it in her pocket.

Eren, hair sticking up, held up a minuscule fleck of paper. “This is all I could find,” he said, shoulders sinking, “I doubt this was what was causing-”

“You did it!” she sang, shaking him by the shoulders.

Eren, who looked pleased, if not a bit confused, held the fleck of paper aloft. “ _This_  could jam that entire machine?”

“Oh yes, it’s actually quite complicated machinery, set off by the smallest thing,” Hanji said, and gripping him by the shoulder, passed him his shirt as she steered him back toward Mike. “Anyway, thank you so much, but now I’ve got to get back to work - you know, deadlines and all that-”

“We’ve got to be going anyway,” Mike said, smiling. Clapping a hand over Eren’s other shoulder, he turned him back around, steering him toward the door.

“Our shift ends at five, and we’ll be at the club for at least a few hours. Stop by if you have the time.”

“Sure Mike,” Hanji said, and smiled.

She fingered the paper in her pocket as she watched them leave.

The moment the office door closed, the narrow supply closet door burst open.

Armin and Farlan, trying to exit at the same time, stumbled over each other on the way out.

Straightening, Armin awkwardly held out Farlan’s gun.

Farlan snatched it back, his cool gaze on Armin - assessing. “I certainly  wasn’t expecting to have my own gun pressed against my ribs today. By a newspaper boy, of all people.”

“Journalist,” Armin corrected, and said, “I was afraid you’d shoot if someone opened the door.”

“I might have.”

“Then I’m glad I took it,” Armin said, and glanced away. “Sorry for pointing it at you, though. I didn’t mean to go that far.”

Farlan tilted his head. “Your hand was steady. I wasn’t worried.”

“You can go now,” Moblit said, stepping between them.

“Yeah, I think I will,” Farlan said, tucking the gun away.

Passing Hanji, he paused. “You got your hands on Wanda Burns’ address?”

She nodded.

Farlan frowned, licking his lips. “I gotta check on Levi. Fill him in. Do me a favor and wait for us before you check it out, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Giving her a long look, he nodded. Turning on his heel, he waved to Armin and said, “See you around, newspaper boy,” and then flipped Moblit off. 

The door swung firmly closed behind him.

“What exactly happened in that closet, Armin?” Hanji asked, baffled.

“ _Nothing!_ ” Armin squeaked.

“Sure,” she replied. “Just let me know if I need to kill him.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“I could do it” Moblit offered.

“Really, it’s okay.”

Brushing past him, Hanji patted his shoulder. “Well, the offer’s always on the table.”

“Wanda Burns,” Moblit called after her, “Her missing brother... he’s the one who was killed, right?”

“...yes.”

“You’re not going to wait for Farlan or Levi.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No, I’m not,” she said, and turned a glance over her shoulder. “You coming?”

Moblit nodded, his expression set in a determined frown. “I’ll grab my things.”

* * *

 

Mikasa wasn’t at the new Westown Hideout - but Levi hadn’t really expected to find her there. The distillery warehouses were nearby, so he checked them next, just in case. It wasn’t until he stopped by his safe house, and found it empty as well, that concern swelled within him.

Just in case, he checked the old dockside location - and then a few of the Ackerman speakeasies. When none of them produced her, he flagged down a cab.

There was still one place he’d yet to check.

The stairs to his mother’s apartment groaned as he took them two at a time. The door opened without a sound. Stepping lightly into the hallway, he peered into the living room. There, his mother sat, rocking in her chair. Gaze half lidded, she stared out the window, eyes tracking scenery and people that weren’t there.

Rolling through his steps, he silently passed, so as to not interrupt her. He crept through the kitchen and into the tiny spare room beyond. The bathroom door was closed. A sliver of light glowed beneath.

He tapped a knuckle on the wood.

“Mikasa.”

From the bathroom, came the sound of running water followed by a shallow, wounded noise.

Fear spurred him into motion.

He tried the handle.

Locked.

“Mikasa. Open the door.”

Silence.

The sound of water continued at a trickle. Then, a low gasp.

“Open the door, Mikasa. Otherwise I’ll break it down,” he took a breath. “And I don’t need to tell you how much that’ll upset her.”

He didn’t need to specify who. 

It was a dirty trick, using his mother like this. But he wasn’t about to stand outside while his cousin bled out in the bathroom.

Finally, the water shut off, and slowly, reluctantly the lock twisted with a snap.

Levi pushed the door in.

Mikasa stepped back, making room in the tiny bathroom. She bumped against the tub and sat, sinking down atop its edge.

At the door, he halted, taking her in.

She was drenched in blood, from collar to pants. Rusty flecks splattered her neck and chin. Fingernails, stained red, clutched at white porcelain.

“Jesus fuck,” he swore quietly, looking her up and down.

Mikasa swallowed and glanced to the side, then down. “I didn’t let her see me like this - Aunt Kuchel. Climbed in through a window.”

Small miracles, he supposed. This much blood was sure to throw Kuchel into an episode.

“Any of it yours?”

She shook her head.

 _Thank fuck for that_ , he thought, giving the dark stain down her front another look.

“Come on,” he sighed, shutting and locking the door behind him. “Let’s get this shit off you”

Most of it came off with her clothes, thankfully. Wrapped in a large towel, she sat in the empty tub as he scrubbed at her fingers and nails with a damp cloth.

“I can do that,” she muttered.

“I’ll do it better.”

When she didn’t respond with something scathing, he glanced up.

She was slumped, head leaning against the edge of the tub. Her dark hair pooled around her shoulders and slipped over the edge. Clumps of it stuck together, bound by hardened blood.

Eyes wide and vacant, she stared up at the ceiling. As he watched, she blinked once, slow.

“We murdered a family, Levi,” she whispered, her voice a low rasp.

Levi shook his head. “No, Kenny planned this shit. He took you there, made you -”

“Kenny didn’t hold my hand as I slit that man’s throat.” Her eyes rolled slowly to the side. She looked at him, and blinked. “I did that all on my own. And I’ve done worse.”

“Would Kenny have let you live if you’d refused to help him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He might have only hurt me.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “ _I didn’t know_  - and so I did what he asked.”

“Fuck that, we both know he’s killed people for less. You didn’t have a choice, Mikasa.”

Her eyes opened, and she met his gaze with a steady, solemn stare. “There’s always a choice.”

“Not a fucking good one.”

“No,” she admitted, and sighed. “It was just the gangster. He was the only one I personally killed. But it didn’t make it any better. He still begged. First for his family’s life. Then for a swift death.”

“Fuck.”

“Levi, I can’t do this anymore,” she said. “It was one thing to kill other gangsters. But now - this. Kenny’s getting worse. I know you’ve seen it too.”

Levi, braced at the edge of the tub, clenched the bloodied rag in his fist. Mikasa lay in the tub, limp and pale.

Her dark eyes stared up at him, like two burnt-out coals. “I won’t do it. Play his games. I refuse.”

“Okay,” he ground out, as his thoughts spiraled in several directions at once.

“I’ll have you on the next train-” he started, ignoring the bitter twisting in his gut at the thought of facing Kenny’s wrath alone. 

All these years, they’d born it together. But it was selfish for him to want her here, just to suffer with him. He should have sent her away years ago.  _God, what kind of cousin was he?_

“No.”

He glanced up, sharp. “You can’t stay here, Mikasa. If you really mean to defy him, Kenny will be out for your head.”

Bloodied fingers gripped the edges of the tub. She dragged herself up. “I’m not leaving you - or Aunt Kuchel here with him. And I’m not leaving this city.  _It’s my home_.”

Dropping the rag, Levi pinched his fingers over the bridge of his nose in an attempt to waylay the headache taking root behind his eyes. “Then what the hell  _do_  you want to do?”

“I’m tired of  _just surviving_ , Levi,” she said, baring her teeth in a grimace. “I want to be free. And to do that, we’ll have to take it from him.”

“Take what?” Levi asked, watching her with narrowed eyes.

“We’ll overthrow Kenny - together,” she said, bloodied hair brushing her collarbone. Leaning forward, she held his gaze. “We’ll take the gang for ourselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! :)


End file.
